


Of Small Things Worth Keeping

by NekoIzumi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beorn is a sweetheart, Bilbo is a Sweetheart, F/M, Female Bilbo, Gandalf Ships It, Legolas ships it, Not Beta Read, Rare Pairings, Rating May Change, The Author Regrets Nothing, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Thranduil is slow on the uptake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoIzumi/pseuds/NekoIzumi
Summary: Thranduil wasn’t fond of dwarves, anyone with a pair of eyes, or ears, knew that much. Thorin bloody Oakenshield knew Thranduil didn’t like dwarves, and one didn’t have to be a genius to see that the Dwarven King in turn wasn’t fond of elves either. They met because they were rulers and they had no other choice if they wished to keep the fragile peace between them. Thranduil never planned for the hobbit. So imagine the surprise when none other than the King of Elves himself, sat down on a bale of hay, under a starry sky one night in Dale… and listened to a song by one small hobbit lass.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer; I don’t own The Hobbit, I don’t want to. Neither do I profit from writing this fic.
> 
> I do NOT give permission for anyone to put my works on Goodreads or any such similar place. Thank you.

Thranduil wasn’t fond of dwarves, anyone with a pair of eyes, or ears, knew that much. Thorin bloody _Oakenshield_ knew Thranduil didn’t like dwarves, and one didn’t have to be a genius to see that the Dwarven King in turn wasn’t fond of elves either. Granted, there hadn’t _always_ been such hostility between the two kingdoms but one does tend to hold grudges when certain promises aren’t kept, one way or the other.

Anyways, King Thranduil did not like dwarves and he sent delegates to Erebor whenever he could get away with it, not wanting to go there himself unless he absolutely had to. This time he had had to.

Under Bard the Bowman, the city of Dale was starting to flourish. The poor Man had become an unwilling intermediary between the dwarves and the elves but something told Thranduil that Bard didn’t mind going back and forth as long as there was peace and quiet at the end of the day. At least for him.

 

As it were, Thranduil himself was in Dale, the three leaders having to negotiate about trade routes for their people, prices of wares, what to trade and so on. It was all horribly boring and trying to get Thorin to agree to _anything_ was a bit like pulling out teeth. Painful, and something that possibly could have been avoided. More than once the Elvenking had been sorely tempted to draw his sword and chop the blasted dwarf’s head off to make him even shorter, but considering they were technically at truce, that would have been in poor taste. Not to mention, seeing such a masterpiece as Orcrist in Thorin's hand always made the elf’s eye twitch a bit but again, it had been a gift and a sign of goodwill. Didn’t mean Thranduil liked it though.

He sighed heavily where he walked, having left the festivities to get some fresh air. Dwarves were such a loud and rowdy bunch, especially when they had had a drink too many. If Thranduil didn’t know any better he'd say they did it just to spite him. So here he was, walking around a mostly silent Dale, trying to will away a headache that had bloomed up at his temples the moment Thorin entered the room that morning.

Figuring he'd go look for Arasson, he blinked when it turned out that someone had beaten him to it.

 _‘The hobbit,’_ he thought, slightly irritated at not being able to get away from small creatures at any turn. Then he looked closer… and listened.

 

Clearly, Bilbo had no idea she was being watched as she stood by the corral holding the elven steeds, including the enormous elk belonging to the Elvenking. No, she was blissfully oblivious of her audience as she crooned a little tune, smiling as small hands fed the large animal sweet apples and carrots from her pockets. She had always been unsettled around horses regardless of size, they spooked far too easily for her taste and being a hobbit, a large horse easily trampled such a small creature when frightened. But this elk was a different kind of beast. There was intelligence in its dark eyes, and the snout was surprisingly soft under her hand. It didn’t mind her scratching the large cheeks as it pushed against her chest, nuzzling for more treats. Her voice rang out clear and true, making the fuzzy ears clip every once in a while. It made her smile though because the large elk certainly didn’t seem bothered by her presence, if anything, it had come to greet her when she came to the corral, her pockets full of what she had managed to nick from Bard’s table without being seen. Then again, it wasn’t the first time she had snuck out at night, to get away from rowdy impossible dwarves and the tension they so caused to the elves, only to end up finding comfort with the large animal. The elk didn’t make fun of her, didn't yell at her to start dancing when things got going… or started retelling tales that were frankly speaking not suitable for such formal company as Bard’s court. At least they never asked her to sing, not even knowing she enjoyed it on occasion. Bilbo never sang in Erebor, she was far too shy for that, and she doubted the dwarrow would enjoy any songs she knew either. But here, with only an elk and horses for an audience, she didn’t mind crooning on a little tune should it strike her fancy. Which is why she nearly had heart failure when a smooth voice suddenly rang out towards her.

 

“Arasson does not usually enjoy being handled by anyone else than me.” Thranduil tilted his head a little to the side, eyeing the hobbit curiously. “You must be quite the spectacular creature for him to allow you such liberties.”

“You- Your Majesty!” Bilbo pressed out, curtsying when manners temporarily highjacked her brain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean-, I wasn’t-, I’ll leave right now.”

“I never asked you to leave, _perian_.” Thranduil replied calmly, casting the hobbit a sideways glance as he strode up to the elk, earning a soft nuzzle for his trouble. Arasson didn’t bother with Thranduil's pockets though, he knew better.

“No, you did not, My Lord.” Bilbo answered softly. “But surely, a Lord with such _vigorous spring_ in his step, has better things to do than to chat with lowly halflings in the dead of night?”

Blue eyes blinked at the smaller creature.

“You speak Sindarin?”

The hobbit shrugged, sticking her hands in her pockets, only to find one last piece of carrot and offering it to Arasson, who took it happily, munching on it with a pointed look in his eye towards the Elvenking.

“Some. Not as well as I wish I suppose.”

“Somehow I doubt you learned the language of Elves in the mountain.” Thranduil muttered, earning a little smile.

“I learned it _before_ I set off with thirteen dwarves on my little adventure.” The next smile she offered him was positively wicked. “Please don’t tell Thorin, he’ll have a conniption.”

Thranduil could not but laugh out loud, absentmindedly scratching Arasson behind a twitchy ear.

“I feel tempted, Mistress Baggins.” he mused. “It brings me great joy to see Oakenshield’s hair get steadily whiter.”

Bilbo snorted then, rocking back on her heels.

“You perhaps, I'm the one who has to live in the same mountain as the stubborn git, and there's no telling what he'd do if he found out I speak your language. Most likely he'd try sending me to spy on your very delegates, My Lord.”

“I am sure you would have no problems with such an endeavour,” Thranduil grinned. “Especially considering you snuck around my halls for weeks undetected.”

The hobbit lost some colour then.

“Yes, about that. I had no choice you see, I was under a contract. And I also do believe I am in your debt for the food I stole during that time.” Bilbo took a deep breath. “I shall repay you as soon as I get back to Erebor, Your Maje-”

“Save it, Mistress Baggins.” the Elf cut her off. “You tried your best to stop a war between the dwarrow and everybody else, you saved Oakenshield, at great expense of your own safety as we know, and I am fairly convinced the only reason the price hasn’t been higher than it already is, and that we are still at peace all of us, has much to do with you.” He offered her a small smile. “A few loaves of bread and some fruit is a price I will gladly pay for what you have done for us.”

 

Honey brown eyes blinked at him then, frowning slightly. Bilbo nodded unsurely, not really knowing how to respond to that.

“I thank you kindly, Your Majesty.”

“Actually, there is one thing you could do for me.”

Her head snapped up, looking at the Elvenking nervously. But she didn’t back down, if anything, she stood fast, her back ramrod straight in preparation for anything come her way.

“Yes, My Lord?”

“Would you terribly mind continue singing?” he asked softly, not knowing where the thought had come from. “Turns out, it quite helped soothe my headache.”

For a while she only stared at him, clearly waiting for him to snort and wave her off with an offhanded comment about having better things to do. But when he didn’t, a warm smile graced her features… and another moment later she picked up where she had left off before he scared her.

Ignoring his guards hiding around them, Thranduil made himself comfortable on a bale of hay… and listened to her sing.

 

-

 

The next time Thranduil saw the little creature, he was stuck in Erebor, despite his best efforts to avoid it, unable to sleep. The chambers he and his cortège have been given during their visit were luxurious of course, only the best for a royal, regardless of race. However, seeing as they were _under a mountain_ Thranduil could not shake the pinch of unease, so far from his woods, and therefor he was unable to sleep. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing, not on the pain of death! So the Elvenking found himself wandering the city of Erebor, surprisingly quiet considering the masses of people, the roaring forges and the way stone echoed the smallest sound. Thranduil would have gone to get something to drink, some wine or even dwarven ale, however… he had no idea where the kitchens were and he was in no hurry to go off potholing and end up getting stuck somewhere. That would just be humiliating. So off he went down to check on the horses… and was not surprised at all to see a familiar small figure, being nuzzled by an excited Arasson.

 

Bilbo giggled where she stood, her small hands scratching with obvious glee at the elk’s furry cheeks and ears, Arasson happily munching on whatever treats she had snuck him this time. She wasn’t singing, probably not comfortable doing so inside the Lonely Mountain, but she was humming, something cheerful and sweet, like herself, while spoiling the mount rotten.

“Shall you keep up this habit of giving him treats, I fear Arasson will grow fat eventually.”

The elk abruptly snapped his head up, giving the elf a truly vile look for the comment. Thranduil merely smiled though, a tight-lipped smile that in no way revealed his mirth at seeing the hobbit’s instant reaction to getting caught, was to hide her hands in her apron. Something in her pocket rustled, catching the elk’s attention once more, who in turn immediately bent down to try to stick his snout in there to get to whatever it was she hadn’t given him… earning joyous laughter that rang out like the clearest bell.

“I doubt whatever small treats I give him will have much of an impact, My Lord. And I get the feeling he does not get that many otherwise, which is such a shame. Arasson is such a beautiful and intelligent creature.”

There was no mistaking the look Thranduil got from the elk after _that_ comment. The Elvenking raised a calm eyebrow, leaning casually against a pillar, watching how undignified the animal was in his further pursuit of treats. It seemed she had raided the pantry for lumps of sugar to bring and Arasson had most definitely not been given any of those back in Mirkwood. Even the horses seemed a bit miffed at the elk hogging all the hobbit’s attention. Bilbo smiled softly, running her hands over fur to scratch and stroke alike, large ears clipping in delight. “I have always felt uneasy around large beasts, a hobbit is so small in this world after all, but Arasson has been nothing but gentle with me.” she murmured lowly. “Even from the very start back in Dale when I unconsciously walked into his corral, fearing I would get trampled, he was so very gentle. I have come to realise such tenderness is difficult to find in this world.” She offered the elf a warm smile, turning her attention back to the animal when he snorted at her. “Sadly, being soft is not something many strive to be. I have had that very word be thrown at me as an insult more times than I care to remember but I have never taken it as such. I _am_ soft, I care for soft things, it is who I am. How can that possibly be anything but good, My Lord?” She pressed her face to Arasson's, giving his snout a few nuzzling kisses, giggling when he mouthed at her hair in return.

 

And that’s what made Thranduil halt, to look closer at what was going on before him. Arasson did not like being handled by anyone, even the elves working the stables gave the large elk a wide berth at the best of times, knowing he didn’t like being touched. His son Legolas, and Thranduil himself aside, there had ever been one person who’s touch Arasson enjoyed… and she had been gone for a _long_ time. So to see the elk willingly seek out the small creature, and interact with her like a besotted fawn, caused the Elvenking pause. There was definitely something about her, something he hadn’t paid attention to before. The way all animals, small and large alike, seemed to be drawn to her, how she stood completely fearless before the King of Elves, speaking to him as a dear friend rather than a ruler of another race… how her voice seemed to calm him instantly, be it casual conversation or song. Even the rough and merciless Wood Elves at Thranduil's court were drawn to this gentle creature, speaking kind words of the halfling in the mountain who always treated them with respect and kindness.

“No, I suppose it is not.” Thranduil murmured softly in return, earning a little smile. He watched in silence how she fed the last of the treats to the elk, mumbling soft nonsense at the animal.

“Is there a reason you are up at such an hour, Your Majesty?” Bilbo asked lowly, shooting the elf a quick glance as she offered Arasson a quiet goodnight and stepped back. She tilted her head curiously. “Are you fleeing Erebor after one mere day in Thorin's company? I cannot say I blame you.”

The Elvenking smirked then, unable to resist the pull to the corner of his mouth.

“It takes more than one stubborn dwarf to send me running, I assure you, Mistress Baggins.”

“Well, I am sure Erebor poses a challenge to serenest of elves.” Bilbo rolled her eyes. “If I had not had a proper grip on my temper _before_ I ran off with the Company, I definitely would have learned how to on the way. There were times when I was sorely tempted to throw the lot over the nearest edge myself, and that was _long_ before we ever saw hide nor tail of any dragons.”

“I can imagine the journey must have been interesting.” Thranduil grinned, earning a snort. “No, I am wandering because sleep does not come easy to me whenever I am here.” The elf shrugged. “It is not natural for us to sleep below ground like this. It-… unnerves me.” he admitted calmly. “My elves are not as connected to the woods as I am, therefore they are all less affected.”

 

Bilbo tilted her head again, her warm honey brown eyes watching curiously. Then she graced him with a soft smile.

“Can I offer you some tea, My Lord?” she asked him kindly, her smile remaining even as he blinked at her, puzzled by the unexpected offer. What a peculiar little creature she was indeed!

“Somehow I doubt I will be allowed anywhere near the kitchens.” Thranduil replied doubtfully. “And even if I was, I do not see how anyone would rush to serve me at this hour.”

“Most likely not, but I am a hobbit, I know my way around a kitchen better than most.” The grin she flashed him was full of mischief. “As for getting there, I have learnt that getting by unheard is harder than going unseen. Surely that poses no challenge to the King of Elves?”

Intrigued now, Thranduil straightened his back and offered a bow of his head, unable to resist the smile graced upon him.

“After you, Mistress Baggins.”

 

-

 

Thranduil would never admit it, but sneaking around Erebor with a hobbit literally half his size, had been _fun_. She knew exactly where the guards were, and how they patrolled, and she seemed to know the vast tunnels like the back of her hand. Thranduil was under no illusions that his guards had been left somewhere in their dust, unable to keep up with their King and the halfling who snuck around just as silently as the best of the Elven hunters. She had lead him down one tunnel, then the next, through more passageways than he bothered counting, and in through a large pair of doors which she closed softly behind him. He had blinked at her and when he turned around, he had indeed found himself in a large kitchen. The ceiling was high enough to accommodate him comfortably, without him having to bend his back or knees, the walls decorated with beautiful tapestries of old dwarven tales, and soft intricate rugs on the floor. It was far too small to be any of the main kitchens in the mountain, meaning it was most likely one for the royal family alone.

 

She told him to sit down, waving towards the table and a surprisingly large chair for a dwarven palace. Same with the cup and saucer she placed in front of him.

“Gandalf comes to visit every now and then.” she explained with a shrug, putting on a kettle to boil having stoked the fire. “And we invited Master Beorn too, who is no small man. I had tableware commissioned to make sure they felt properly welcome.”

“How gracious of you, Mistress Baggins.”

“Please call me Bilbo, My Lord. And I _am_ a hobbit.” She winked at him, turning back to where she was putting all kinds of delectables on a platter so he couldn’t see the sudden blush on her face. “I may not know anything about running a mountain kingdom, but if there is one thing I _do_ know, it is how to be a proper host.”

Not paying any attention to the stupefied raised eyebrow, she set the platter down in front of the elf, and went to get the tea. Deciding on her very best leaves, she poured some in their cups and filled them with water.

 

Thranduil hesitantly reached out for a puff pastry on the plate, biting into it carefully… only to have the taste of ripe black cherries burst on his tongue. His low moan of appreciation was instinctual.

Bilbo smiled happily at him though, waiting for her hot tea to steep.

“I will take that as a compliment towards my cooking, My Lord.”

“ _You_ made these?” Thranduil pressed out after he had chewed and swallowed, earning a low chuckle.

“There is little else for me to do in this mountain, Your Majesty. I have no talent for any Craft that the dwarves really value, be it smithing, statecraft, weaving or otherwise, but I _can_ cook and eventually, even the most stubborn of dwarrow has to eat.”

Thranduil frowned over his own cup. _‘Excellent leaves… from Rivendell if I am not mistaken.’_ He hadn’t had tea from Rivendell in centuries. Then again, most of the time he did tend to prefer wine.

“That does not sound like how Oakenshield should treat one of his revered Company. Surely, he treats you better than a mere cook?”

Bilbo shrugged. “He treats me just fine. He can be a bit overprotective at time I suppose, nothing I cannot handle. He is mostly too busy with his meetings and whatnot to keep too much attention on me.”

“And do you wish for it? Oakenshield’s attention?” Thranduil was not entirely sure why the answer mattered to him as much as it did, but he watched the small woman closely as she finished the bite she had taken of her own pastry. She offered him a soft snort and shook her head.

“No, I do not wish for Thorin's affections more than I already have them, My Lord. I am but a simple hobbit you see, and I am not sure the aristocracy of Erebor would take too kindly to such a union. As much as I am a _Hero_ here, there are some who find it outrageous for a mere hobbit to be so close to the royal family. The fact that I have nothing to do with Thorin and how he rules seems to pass over their heads.”

“Then why not return to the Shire?”

 

Bilbo frowned then, the easy smile on her face slowly fading. She knew the Elvenking had not meant the question to hurt, but rather he had asked out of genuine curiosity… however, the sting was the same.

“There have been talk of me going back.” she admitted softly, tracing the edge of a delicate cup with her finger. “For my safety or some such nonsense. I do not buy into those rumours though… perhaps because I do not wish to return to the Shire.” She offered the silent elf a shaky smile. What was she even doing, sitting in the kitchen at such a late hour, with the King of Elves, drinking tea? She hadn’t expected Thranduil to be such lovely company, and the fact that he was easy on the eyes certainly hadn’t helped things, but she greatly enjoyed having him to herself for a bit. His sense of humour was bone-dry, something she appreciated, being as she was surrounded by dwarves, of which some still found jokes about bodily functions hilarious. Then again, it wasn’t exactly sensible to be attracted to Thranduil of all people. She had more luck finding a partner amongst the miners in Erebor, or even amongst the Men of Laketown and Dale, for those who were into that sort of thing. Still, she could not help herself. He was the first in a very long time who had given her attention that did not come at the cost of her dignity. Somehow, he made her feel like a _woman_. “You see, in the Shire I am just another hobbit.” she murmured. “Not special or extraordinary at all, whereas here…” She shrugged, feeling rather pitiful all of a sudden. “There is nothing for me in the Shire beyond prying hobbits who turn their noses up at me, and I do much prefer to remain lonely among friends than pretend to have any respectability left while nosy gossipmongers, disguised as friends, whisper behind my back.”

“I would say you are quite remarkable, _Elvellon._ ” Thranduil said softly… earning a faint blush. “You succeeded where many before you have failed, do not think less of yourself than you are.”

“Elf Friend or no, I am not going back.” Bilbo muttered, trying not to read too much into his soft voice. Thranduil was three thousand years old, he could wrap her around his pinkie with his words and she would be none the wiser. Really, she was much too old to fall for a pretty face. Even if he was an Age or two older than her. Just about to say something more, they both blinked when the door opened as the first cook for the morning came in… only to stop and stare comically at them. He blinked, all colour draining from his face… then backtracked as silently as he had come in, closing the door behind him. They both heard the shriek as he rushed down the hall to Eru knows where. Bilbo sighed and reached for another pastry.

“Well, if you were bored, My Lord, I'm sure that just stirred the pot for you.”

 

-

 

Trying her best not to simply be in the way during all the busy meetings, or underfoot rather, for the elven dignitaries that came to the mountain, Bilbo busied herself to the best of her abilities elsewhere. Much like she had predicted, seeing the resident hobbit of Erebor, enjoying a nice cuppa with the King of Elves in the private kitchen of the Company, sure did cause a stir. Thorin had hollered something about the dratted tree-shagger playing house and hosting tea parties with Bilbo to get state secrets out of her… not quite remembering at the time that Bilbo _didn’t know_ any ‘state secrets’. Unless you counted where Glóin and Balin held the ledgers for how much ore was coming out of the mountain, but Bilbo somehow doubted Thranduil having any interest whatsoever in those. Neither did he seem inclined to ask about the treasury, the only thing in Erebor which could potentially be of any interest to the elf. Dís on her end had cackled like a maniac, seeing the way her brother rattled at the sheer familiarity between the hobbit and the Elvenking. And of course, Dís being Dís, had decided to dangle that in Thorin's face until the dwarf had another loud meltdown. If Bilbo had ever wondered where Fíli and Kíli got their mischievous streak from, she need not look further than that. The Line of Durin were all demented, no gold-sickness required.

Because of all the ruckus around the incident, Bilbo had taken to stay clear of the elves as much as she could. The last thing she needed was more drama and rambling dwarves after all.

 

In all this madness, there was one person who specifically sought her out though… Prince Legolas. He was delighted to get to know her better, to speak Sindarin in the mountain just to confuse the dwarves, to take long walks around the garden terraces with her when he was not busy with one meeting or another. He too had seen how cosy Arasson was with the small creature and it had piqued his curiosity greatly. Not to mention, his father asking him to personally deliver Mirkwood tea leaves to the little hobbit, hadn’t helped.

Who was this Bilbo Baggins to earn such favour from Thranduil, King of Elves?

 

As he was soon to learn, she was a gentle little thing, cunning and with a most hilariously clashing sense of propriety and humour. She did not censor herself or her thoughts, much, and it was refreshingly delightful to hear her talk about how the dwarves, while excellent cooks in terms of meat, sure could learn a thing or two about vegetables. They ate just enough to avoid scurvy, the hairy land pirates! Legolas had struggled not to laugh the next time he saw Thorin, the Dwarf King scowling at him as he passed them in a corridor. Bilbo hadn’t made things easier when she offered him a wink, sweetly asking him ‘see what I mean?’. Knowing the silent feud between the two rulers, Bilbo had once whispered to the Prince how to help his father even the score a bit the next time Thorin was invited to Mirkwood in official business. Thranduil had smiled a smile that had sent chills down his servers’ back that day when he ordered them what to prepare for that evening’s feast, and Legolas hadn’t been the only one to bite the inside of his cheek not to smile when Thorin and his heirs, Fíli in particular, had turned slightly green in the face when they were served apple wine with their meal. A meal which in many aspects, had been seasoned or contained apples. It was a petty jab, but oh so worth it.

 

And then there was the pastries! Whenever the elven delegates went back to Mirkwood she sent with them fresh out of the oven-pastries! Some of which, even Legolas with all his years, had never tasted before! She always smiled so sweetly at them, offering whoever was closest of the Wood Elves, the large basket with the wonderful smells wafting out, along with lovely words of safe travels. It came to the point where Thorin himself was left standing in stunned silence because the elves would not leave until she had arrived to say her send-offs! There may or may not have been occasional internal struggles about whom got to carry the basket out of Erebor, the group only getting as far as out as the mighty gates before they dove into it to help themselves to whatever delicious goods she had offered them that time.

 

Legolas of course was not daft in any sense of the word, he saw her shy glances in the direction of his father whenever Thranduil was forced to go to the mountain. The sweet little hobbit was in love with the Elvenking. She never mentioned anything, never showed the slightest sign of where her affections lay, but for those who knew where to look it was obvious… and Legolas saw. Bilbo lit up whenever she heard of the elf, her cheeks turning a lovely rose before she looked away to compose herself. Most likely the intention of the pastries was for at least a few of them to reach Thranduil, though not many of them ever did, but she never explicitly asked the elves to deliver them. She merely offered them and hoped they would be much enjoyed on their return journey. They were, often they were long gone before the elves ever reached the borders of Mirkwood.

Legolas had decided to have some mercy on the poor creature once and actually saved a few of the delicious pastries for his father, offering the basket to the King with a twinkle in his eye. Thranduil had looked inside, a brow rising slowly at what met him.

“A gift from Mistress Baggins in Erebor, father.”

“… and she sent a whole basket for only two pastries?” Thranduil had not missed the very light dusting of powdered sugar on his son’s chin… and tunic.

“It was a long journey, father.” Legolas had said, with as much a straight face as he could muster. Which hadn’t been much when faced with the sheer scrutiny on his father’s features. Thranduil called codswallop… and they both knew it. In the end, he had nodded and dismissed his son, but there _had_ been a little gift in the basket when next time a delegation was sent back to the mountain. Legolas hadn’t been to one to give it but he could imagine her smile when she noticed the pretty hairpins, carefully packaged and concealed inside the cloths in the basket. He wasn’t surprised at all to see them in her hair the next time he visited Erebor.

 

-

 

Figuring that Bilbo was as good with the dratted elves as any of his diplomats, if not better, Thorin decided to send her along with his representatives the next time it was time for the dwarves to visit Mirkwood. She had sighed and rolled her eyes when he and Balin tried telling her what it was they wanted out of the meeting, saying that she knew perfectly well thank you, and could they please give her some credit? Dwalin hadn’t been happy about being sent along, he loved elves as much as Thorin did, but off he went, riding his pony right next to hers on their journey. Bard wasn’t entirely sure why the dwarves had decided to send their hobbit this time, but he knew as well as everybody else how easy she was to deal with and quite looked forward to a meeting where everybody was level-headed and less prone to shout. Bilbo should have known better than to come as it turned out.

 

-

 

Over the course of the following few days the meetings went well, the political issues were sorted, and all that was left was the feast once everybody had rested after that day’s discussions. The early evening found Bilbo in her rooms, looking at herself in the floor-length mirror. She had brought her very best dress, a stunning creation made from the very finest of silks from Dori's shop. He had been delighted when she commissioned him to make something for her for special occasions, and this was one such occasion for the otherwise unused garment. The corset was made of the best brocade, a stunning cobalt blue to the lighter cornflower blue of the crushed velvet of her dress, a stark contrast to the white of her petticoat and short shift underneath. She had carefully gathered the strawberry blonde locks of her hair and pinned them up with the beautiful little pins she had been given, the small flowers looking as real as the blossoms she weaved into the unruly curls. She had primped herself carefully, taking extra care to brush the hair on her feet, and as she looked in the mirror at her handiwork, she felt pretty. Prettier than she had ever felt in the Shire, and just maybe she would manage the courage to confess her feelings this evening. Her honey brown eyes sparkled, her hair glimmered in the candle light and the masterwork of Dori did wonders for her curves. The only embellishments she wore, save for the flowers, were the delicate hairpins in her hair.

 

Bilbo took a deep breath when there was a knock on the door.

“Mistress Baggins? We are ready to escort you to the banquet hall.” Legolas blinked when she opened the door. “You look stunning, Bilbo.” His easy smile and compliment earned him a faint blush.

“Why thank you, Prince Legolas. You look quite dashing yourself.”

The elf snorted, offering his palm to her as not to make her tip on her toes. “It is a party held by my father, surely you cannot think I would get away with wearing anything but my best finery?”

“I would never dream of it.” Bilbo offered the prince a sly glance. “How could I possibly know _anything_ about the feasts held by the Elvenking? Though I do know a thing or two about his dungeons.”

“I am sure it remains a great peeve for my father that a small hobbit managed to stay in his palace for weeks without getting discovered… and subsequently make off with his prisoners on top of it.”

Bilbo stopped in her tracks then, looking up at the elf with worried eyes. “Is that going to be a problem? I would hate for that to be a reminder whenever he sees me.”

The prince merely chuckled, patting her hand affectionately. “Do not worry about that, Mistress Baggins, had my father had issues with that still, he would not have allowed you back into Mirkwood.”

“How… comforting?” Bilbo answered unsurely, being lead towards the feast while still deep in thought. She knew the dwarves from the old Company always felt a bit uneasy whenever they visited Mirkwood, preferring to keep all meetings in Erebor or in Dale. Bilbo herself however, hadn’t really been invited before, and neither had she asked to come along. It wouldn’t have been proper and besides, she really didn’t wish to feel like more of a love-struck shireling than she already did, thank you. She was much too old to run after boys at her age.

 

Though, she couldn’t help but let her eyes wander to the magnificent King when they finally made it to the hall. Thranduil was beautiful, she had always known that, but dressed up specifically for a party he was even more so. The long fair hair positively shimmered in the light from the candles and the piercing blue eyes, which could grace their subjects with the coldest of stares, were warm when they looked at her.

As Legolas lead her to his father, Bilbo never saw Dwalin turn to her, and immediately choke on whatever it was he had snuck from the table. Ignoring everyone and everything else, Bilbo smiled and curtsied before the King of Elves.

“My Lord.” she greeted softly, her breath taken away by the ethereal beauty that was Thranduil. He was almost painfully stunning to look at, tall and graceful before her. _‘Be still, my beating heart.’_ she thought to herself.

“Bilbo,” Thranduil smiled, gracing the hobbit with a gentle bow of his head. “It is a feast on the eyes to finally see you in my halls, as beautiful as any of Mirkwood’s blooms.” The elf courteously ignored the muttered ‘what bloody blooms?’ from the warrior in the corner.

“I thank you for the invitation, Your Majesty. Prince Legolas has been very kind and showed me around the garden earlier.” Bilbo smiled in return, earning a smile from the prince, and a raised eyebrow from the king. “Mirkwood is much lovelier than I ever imagined, probably much due to the conditions of my last visit.”

“Let’s not talk about that!” Legolas cut in before the conversation could turn awkward. “Shall we begin, father? I am starving!”

“Yes,” Thranduil nodded after a silent moment. “Lets.”

 

-

 

“I see that you wear elven hairpins in your hair.”

Bilbo nearly eeped at the low voice washing over her like warm water. Smiling without any conscious effort from her brain, she turned to the elf, away from the balcony where she had been standing looking out over the palace garden. Rivendell was breath-taking in its beauty, the way it was situated on the hillside, with waterfalls and tiers of balconies with the most spectacular views of the city. Mirkwood was another kind of beautiful, wild and free and almost raw in how the Wood Elves lived and merged with nature. Being a hobbit with a love for all things green and growing, she could see the wonder of one elven city as much as the wonder of another. She hoped she would have enough time to explore more of Mirkwood before she had to leave for Erebor, surely Legolas wouldn’t mind taking her on the morrow?

 

When she turned around, Thranduil was sitting casually on the balustrade next to her.

She took a deep breath. This was probably the best chance she would ever get, might as well take it.

“Why, yes I do.” she pressed out, offering the King a sweet, shy smile. “You see, Thranduil,” She almost whispered the name, it felt so intimate to voice it like this. “They were a gift from someone very dear to me.”

When she finally racked up the courage to meet his gaze, it wasn’t a fond smile that waited for her… but rather a frown. Like the King was confused… or disquieted.

“…dear to you.” he murmured, tilting his head sideways a bit, like he was wont to do when he was pondering something over. She didn’t move when a large hand reached out to touch one of the delicate flowers by her ear. “But you are a hobbit.”

 

Swallowing hard, Bilbo fought with everything she had not to let the smile slide off her face. Somewhere inside, something suddenly hurt. She had known this had been nothing but a fool’s folly from the very start when he asked her to sing to him under the starlight in Dale, she had _known_ … but she hadn’t cared.

“Yes,” she pressed out, surprised at how strong her voice was when the rest felt like she was steps from breaking apart. “I am hobbit, nothing more, nothing less.” Pressing out a wider smile, she took a step back, away from his touch. “I am a soft creature, with a soft heart. Can you blame me for being endeared to those who treat me with kindness, My Lord?”

“It was never my intention to hurt you, little one.” Thranduil said lowly, unsure of why he felt like pulling her closer, to offer her comfort even as she avoided his touch. Wise eyes plainly saw the hurt she was valiantly trying to hide from him and he did not like it. Such a delicate creature should not feel pain, any kind of it. And yet here she stood, fighting back tears he had brought to her warm eyes. Something in Thranduil's chest lurched when she took another step back, away from him.

“Some hurts never are, My Lord, and yet we cannot avoid them.” Her smile when she finally met his gaze was so frail a gust of wind could shatter it. “Please excuse me, Your Majesty, I think I heard someone call for me.”

No one had, Thranduil would have heard it, even in the revel of the hall, a hall that included loud dwarves. As he watched her walk away, his gaze fastened on his son, a son who had seen and heard the entire exchange. And for the first time Legolas looked-… disappointed with his father.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to LadyLaran and LeandersLuckyLady for the wonderful comments which helped me finish this so much faster than I ever anticipated!  
> Also, this is posted in the early hours of the morning, it is unBetaed and so all errors in there are ones I missed upon proofreading. Please enjoy!

The dwarves’ trust in Bilbo as their diplomat was not misplaced. She knew how to behave professionally, regardless of her humiliation the previous evening. To anyone else she behaved the same as before, she discussed, argued, her smiles as friendly as ever. But two elves in particular saw a difference in her. Thranduil couldn’t help the frown when she suddenly kept their conversations to strictly official topics, it irked him when she avoided his touch with a master’s skill, offering him a guarded smile as she moved away. Thranduil hadn’t known how much he had come to cherish their open conversations, how easy it was for her to make him smile, before it was suddenly taken away. She treated him with all the respect his station was due… but no more specially than any other elf at the Elvenking’s court. He tried to approach her but she was excellent at keeping herself busy and at the centre of things. And when time came for the Dwarven delegate to leave, she curtsied respectfully before him, thanked him most graciously for the wonderful stay, and returned to Erebor on her pony without so much as a glance back. It left the Elf King standing behind, uneasy and confused at the sudden change.

“I never intended to hurt her.”

“I know, father.” Legolas replied calmly, standing next to the higher-ranked elf. “But she is a soft creature, bruised as easily by an unkind word as a blow.”

“I should apologise to her then.”

“Somehow, I think that might cause her more pain.” Legolas turned to face his father, absentmindedly wondering how an elf of Thranduil's age and dignity, could be so very innocent. Perhaps, the Elvenking had not even realised how close he had gotten to the small creature until she voiced her affection. And now here he stood, unfamiliar with how to approach matters of the heart. It was a sad sight indeed.

 

-

 

Bilbo on her end refused to crumble underneath the terrible heartache. She held her head high throughout the entire journey to Dale, she danced and laughed with Bard’s daughters, she enjoyed her meals, she kept holding her head high as she reported to Thorin and Balin, and once done she returned to her chambers to unpack her things. The beautiful dress was carefully stored in the back of her wardrobe, it held too many hopes of dreams that ended up crushed for her to wear it now. But the hairpins… as much as she _wanted_ to put them safely away, somewhere where she knew she didn’t have to see them and remember what they had meant to her… she just couldn’t. So she kept them in her hair, but never around the elves from Mirkwood.

 

-

 

As much as Bilbo would have liked to end her infatuation with everything _elf_ there and then, she did not have the heart to refuse the hopeful Eleven delegates coming to Erebor. They smiled and laughed around her, earning her more than one sour grumble from Thorin when he noticed how the otherwise so calm and collected Big Folk positively trembled with excitement as she came running with the overfull basket of baked goods. Especially the one time one of the guards had fished out a muffin the second the basket was within reach, still hot, and bit into it causing the vanilla custard filling to dribble down his chin, right there in front of a stupefied Dwarven royal assembly. He had not cared one wit about any of them staring as he gulped down the rest of his prize in two greedy gulps. The others had in loud Sindarin, accused him of cheating, ignoring the Dwarven King staring bug-eyed at the picture before him, while Bilbo had turned to the Elven diplomat, who had at least _tried_ to look professional, and snuck her a small bundle of the almond cookies she favoured over other sweeter pastries. With their greetings said and done, the elves had left Erebor, quarrelling about whether the guard had stolen more than his fair share or if the muffin should be counted at all since no one quite knew what she had packed them that time.

 

“Why do you not bring _us_ pastries?” Kíli asked her despondently, having smelled whatever it was that was currently on the way out of the mountain.

“Because you can get all the pastries you want from the kitchen.” Bilbo snorted, turning to head back. “And I should think the elves are in a much better mood being here than they used to be, do you not agree, Thorin?”

There really wasn’t anything he could say to that. The meetings with the elves went much smoother these days and he wasn’t the only one who accredited that to the hobbit amongst them. He glanced at the retreating hobbit, frowning slightly as he did. There was something off about her.

 

-

 

Throughout the long winter, Bilbo was gratefully spared from having to deal with elves. The winters around the Lonely Mountain were harsh and the dwarves of Erebor hunkered down, not leaving the safety of her walls unless they absolutely had to. Inside, Bilbo spent more time in the library. She couldn’t read much of the documents, curse the paranoid secrecy of dwarves!, but she could help Ori catalogue everything from the old storage. There were countless scrolls, books, notebooks, large tomes and ledgers in crates, dusty and unseen in years. So she helped out whenever she could… until she ended upon the tales of Beren and Lúthien. It should have been odd to find a love tale between Men and Elves in a dwarven library but the thought never occurred to her. Unable to stop herself she snuck it out of the library, and later that night found her in front of her fire place, a pot of tea and nibbles close at hand, reading about the love and adventures of the two lovers. A mortal Man and an immortal Elf-Maiden, their love so strong and true that even Mandos himself would not keep them apart. It made that place deep within Bilbo, that had ached so terribly since that night in Mirkwood, flare up once more. Like she had been so bluntly rejected only yesterday and not before winter.

 

Because Thranduil, beautiful, wise, graceful Thranduil, was an elf. An immortal Elf King who had lived through Ages, who had seen and heard and experienced so much. And here was Bilbo Baggins, a mere hobbit of 50 some years, from the Shire. It was funny really, she should have known how she had never stood a chance at all, but her foolish little heart had not cared for such logic. It had seen how gentle he was with her, how he treated her well and respectfully, how the few touches he had graced her with had been warm and kind. She had not cared for things such as lifespans or race, or even the ridiculous size difference between them. Bilbo Baggins had loved blindly and truly. And maybe _because_ she was a hobbit, she decided then and there, that love or not, she was going to take as many chances as she could to see him, to be around him, to hear his voice. Her lifespan, or however much was left of it, was but a blink of an eye to the Elvenking. He would have to deal with a smitten hobbit for a little bit longer.

 

-

 

Spring came and with it a joyful hobbit who whirled around Erebor like a particularly stubborn and gentle wind sprite. All of a sudden, Bilbo Baggins was _everywhere_. She charmed the old coots in the many different councils, she tended the sprouts and new shoots in the garden terraces with loving care and she almost overwhelmed the kitchen staff with beating them to the pantry and presenting them with the most delightful of meals. Thorin had started muttering something about not fitting into his favourite armour anymore, but it hadn’t stopped him from enjoying every feast she placed before him and the rest of the Company.

 

The Mirkwood Elves came and went, always enchanted by her, spoiled with her baked goods as they were. She charmed the usually stern and ruthless elves over, endearing them to her when she learned their names and tastes, when she always made sure to greet them individually, and every once in a while, giving them a little special something with the basket. A basket the elves had sneakily replaced with a larger one. She had noticed of course, once didn’t just miss their mother’s favourite bread basket suddenly become bigger, but she never said anything about it, just kept on sending with them pastries, jars of homemade jam, breads with seeds and occasionally a skin or two of her very own moonshine. She had laughed heartily the first time she saw them try it, one of the guards thinking little of a hobbit’s spirits… until he felt the burn down his throat and started coughing loudly, the others laughing at him in glee, passing the skin between themselves. They soon learned that while the liquor was as smooth as a babe’s bottom, it had quite the kick to it and they very much did enjoy it compared to the elven wine that they were used to. They asked her if she had ever given the dwarves a taste of her hard work and Bilbo had shuddered in response. Aye, that had been a disaster of an evening with Dwalin streaking through Erebor, chased by Bofur and Nori wearing women’s clothing laughing as they did. The rest of the Company had been singing at the top of their lungs up in the dining hall, mostly off key, before they all eventually conked out in one large graceless pile in front of the open fireplace. Dís had managed to pull a muscle from all the laughter that night… maybe because, or despite, the fact that her own two sons had started a food fight… which had ended with Kíli's head stuck up the rear end of a turkey. A _raw_ turkey. The chefs had _not_ been happy when one of their largest turkeys had ended up as pigswill, along with the leeks that Fíli had braided into his hair some time during the evening. The things those two got up to when unsupervised. Bilbo had promised herself to never ever put herself through that experience again… much to Dís’ dismay. And quite possibly Thorin's relief. He didn’t think he had been as bad as say, Dwalin, but the fact that he woke up with Oín's ear trumpet up his nostril begged to differ.

 

She had promised not to tell a single dwarf about it… but Thorin had never said anything about _elves_ and so Bilbo told Legolas upon his next visit, and the Prince had laughed himself into stitches. He had pleaded with her to let him try some but as she had none finished at the time, she had smiled and said she could send some to him later. Knowing the elven guards had developed a fondness for her moonshine at that point, Bilbo had sent with them 5 full skins in hopes of that at least _some_ would find its way to the Elf Prince. None of it had of course, but a group of loudly singing Mirkwood elves had and so it was a stupefied Thranduil who greeted his returning delegates at the gates of Eryn Galen. As it happened, Bilbo's homebrew was _the_ strongest in the Shire, even the old Gaffer’s stuff was weaker… though Hamfast didn’t know that of course. Next to the Elvenking stood Legolas, not knowing whether to laugh at the guards, at this father’s thunderous expression or to be miffed that they had drunk what was clearly meant for him. He had written a letter to Bilbo about the whole event, and Thranduil's consequential eruption… which she had shown to a gleeful Thorin in turn. She figured it was only fair after all.

 

She no longer avoided Thranduil. No, she took joy in being near him, hearing his mellow voice, see how he moved gracefully down the halls, not a fraction of energy wasted or a hair out of place. She smiled softly at him, leaned into his touches, as few as they were… she sought him out whenever he was in Erebor, or they both were in Dale. And Thranduil in turn grew to truly, deeply enjoy her presence. They took walks together, discussing her work on the royal terraces, what she was doing there, what she had planted and where. He learned that she was knowledgeable on flora and fauna, that she had a mischievous streak, buried deep but there all the same, that she truly wanted to get to know him better… he grew to love her voice as she sang to him, and him only. It pleased him to see that she still wore the flower hairpins in her hair.

Unbeknownst to Bilbo, she solidified the peace between three kingdoms.

 

Then she arrived with Dwarven delegates, led by the princes, and asked, almost demurely, if he would allow her to cook for Thranduil and his court the very next night. The Elvenking hadn’t been entirely sure how to respond to that.

“But you are a guest, Bilbo.” he had replied wonderingly. “Surely you do not wish to work the kitchens while you are here? There are many more places in the city you have yet to explore!”

“As wonderful as that sounds, My Lord,” Bilbo took a deep breath. “I would like to show you a part of my culture, a part that means a lot to hobbits. Food. I would like to cook recipes from the Shire for you and yours to enjoy… should you be so generous to allow me such liberties.”

“Hobbit food?” Kíli whispered to his brother, not thinking of the fact that elves have excellent hearing, and their King most of all. “Are we going to get hobbit food? Here!? That’s awesome!”

Fíli tried shushing his brother but ended up shoving a sharp elbow in his gut instead when he noticed the Elf King blink curiously at them.

“Please do not take that the wrong way, Lord Thranduil!” he pressed out, desperately trying to damage control. “It is not that we do not appreciate the feasts that you have so graciously bestowed upon us, but-”

“Trust me, you have never tried better fare than that of Mistress Bilbo Baggins!” Kíli cut him off, so genuinely excited about the thought of Bilbo cooking he was almost vibrating. She baked a lot, everybody east of the Misty Mountains knew that much, but she very seldom cooked. Considering how they had raided her pantry back in Bag End, and what delicious morsels that had been, they all looked forward to when she decided to take over the kitchens. The prince looked so happy at the mere thought of her food, not noticing how Fíli was trying to shut him. “Her touch is better than even that of dwarves and just thinking about it makes my mouth water! If you appreciated her pastries, you will weep from joy when you have tried her cooking!”

“Kíli!”

“What?” the archer snapped, frowning at his sibling. “Am I not being truthful?”

“Why yes, but-”

“That is a lot of mouths to feed, little one.” Thranduil interrupted before the two could start bickering properly. “And my court is large. Can you truly manage?”

The smile she graced him with was positively wicked.

“Is that a challenge, My Lord?”

 

-

 

The next morning she was up before dawn. By the time the kitchen staff arrived she had made everything from dough to batter to jelly to soaking meat in marinade. She had smiled at the distraught elves, telling them to sit down and enjoy a hearty breakfast, because surely they had other things to do that day? She had never said anything about them helping her. If anything, Bilbo had tried chasing them out so she could work, but they kept on sneaking back in to at least _try_ to assist her… or to see what it was she was doing. She plied them with hot out of the oven-pastries and told them to enjoy themselves. They hadn’t been quite sure how to react to that, to this small delicate creature, running a large kitchen like the most experienced and disciplined of generals. Eventually she _had_ let them in, but only because she had several dishes going on at once, and could someone stir that large pot over there? She didn’t want the sauce to burn. Cooking with Bilbo Baggins was no calm affair but oh how they enjoyed it. She laughed with them, popping a spoon into one elf’s mouth so he could taste, only to turn around and flip a frying pan _just_ in time behind another. She chattered while working, telling them stories of her beloved Shire, of her family, savoury and unsavoury alike, about the Party Tree and how there was always that one hobbit who made a fool out of himself because of too much ale and dancing. When a few of the guards snuck in, lured by the rumour of Erebor's precious hobbit in the kitchen, _cooking_ , she merely laughed and tossed them a few of the pastries that weren’t quite pretty enough to serve their king. Even Legolas decided to take a look for himself, staring wide-eyed at how she directed the kitchen and _her_ staff as expertly as if the elves were on the battlefield. He had left not long after, with his loot secured in the crook of his arm.

 

Then came evening and the food was carried out to the large table where the guests and royals were sat. Thranduil himself was astonished at the number of platters and bowls carried out… and it all smelled delectable. She had gone all out and prepared mutton with rosemary, grilled slowly spinning over open flame, fish in spicy saffron cream sauce, pork dripping of juices but seared to perfection, chicken baked whole in the oven, with delicious crispy skin that crunched as you bit into it, beef wafting of thyme and bay leaf, cooked slow with onions in red wine. There were stews with rabbit, carrots and lentils, and vegetables, cooked, roasted and grilled. Soups, salads, gravies, sauces, thick and thin, there were potatoes in many different forms, plain white rice as well as delicious risottos with mushrooms. And those were just the hot dishes.

 

She had made sponge cakes, puff pastries, pies with many different fillings and vanilla custard to pour on top. There were crepes with berries, cookies and chocolate cakes so rich in scent he was sure the entire forest could smell them… if they could pick them out from all the other wonders presented before him. There were puddings and muffins and tartes, pastries filled with everything from jam to heavy whipped cream to almond paste. She had used spices the elves had never seen before, in ways they did not know spices could be used. Some of the dishes were mild and sweet, others had a delayed kick of heat that elevated the flavours to new heights. Even the servants pouring the wine glanced at the table in hunger. But no one ate, all eyes on the Elf King, waiting for him to begin. Next to his seat at the head of the table stood Bilbo, worrying her hands while watching him calmly spear a piece of chicken on his fork. Would he like it?

 

Blue eyes fluttered closed when the flavours exploded on his tongue, ripping the tiniest of moans from the elf at the sheer wonder of what he was tasting. Thranduil nodded slowly, while chewing. Then he swallowed.

“You may begin.” he rasped, not seeing the shit-eating grin on Kíli's face. Bilbo didn’t see it either, too focused on the elf as she was.

“Is it to your satisfaction, My Lord?” she asked softly, hoping she hadn’t spent a whole day working in the kitchen only to insult his taste buds.

Thranduil opened his eyes then, turning to her and offering her a warm smile, for anyone to see. A graceful hand beckoned her closer and she stepped up, offering a small smile in return.

“This is delectable.” Thranduil murmured gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her cheek, mindful of the sharp points of his crown. “I am very much looking forward to trying a little bit of everything that you have put before me this evening.”

 

When he pulled back to look at her, he found himself staring. She stood there, smiling a serene loving smile, so very happy with having pleased him… and for a moment, Thranduil swore on everything that was dear to him that he saw her-… glowing. If he didn’t know any better he could have sworn she emitted the same starlight as an elf, only softer, like the gentle light of a reading lantern in a dark room rather than the brilliant glimmer of water under the sun’s rays. Despite all the lovely aromas in the hall coming from the feast before him, he suddenly felt _her_ scent, so much stronger than it had ever been before. She smelled of the pipeweed she liked to smoke, of dirt from her gardens, of sugar and spices and from cooking and _warmth_. Not fresh and crisp like elves, but rather in earthy and homey tones, much like her beloved Shire. His senses seemed to _sing_ around her.

 

Under his hand her cheek was soft and warm, like the finest of velvets to his touch. A lock of her strawberry blonde hair had escaped the pins some time during of the evening and it brushed against his thumb, silkier than his own. It tickled his nerves, sending an odd pleasure down his spine he had never felt before.

Even in the din of the dining hall, with all the cheer and clatter of plates going on, with music being played in the background, he heard her breaths, somehow loud to his ears, yet measured. A slight shift of his hand and he felt her pulse under a slender fingertip, fast like a bird’s and more precious.

“My Lord?”

Her voice, so melodious and warm, brought him out of his sudden stupor.

“Sing to me?” he found himself asking without consciously thinking of words.

The cheek under his hand warmed as a touch of rose rushed to her skin.

“I still have duties to the party, My Lord.” Bilbo replied softly, earning a barely there frown. She offered a small smile in return. “Perhaps after, if you still wish it?”

Thranduil nodded then, returning the smile with a touch of his own. “So it shall be then.”

When he returned his focus to the feast it was to meet the eyes of his only son, however Legolas merely offered him a nod and an approving smile.

 

-

 

Hours after the feast had ended, with dwarves and elves alike stumbling to their beds for the evening, found Bilbo outside under the stars, her voice ringing out softly as she sang to the Elvenking. He had been waiting for her when she was brought to him in the large garden, looking as beautiful in the light of the moon as he did under the soft glow of chandeliers. At first she had been intimidated by him, he looked regal and imposing, it was just part of who he was, just like Thorin was majestic simply by being Thorin… but the look in the blue eyes when they turned to her, as silent as she had tried to be, was fond and beckoning. He had smiled at her, taken her hand and lead her farther into the blossoming garden, sharing with her the true beauty of Mirkwood, a glimpse of how it had been long before the darkness and the sickness warped the trees. Bilbo had started humming then, some tune from the Shire she barely remembered the words to, and once that was finished, she started singing on another tune, and another, while carefully picking flowers.

 

Thranduil sat on a bench watching her in silence, revelling in how absolutely calm and relaxed he felt, despite having perhaps eaten a bit too much. But what with how wonderful her cooking had been, how could he not sample a little of everything like he had promised? How could he not return for seconds of the dishes he had liked the most? Even Legolas had looked positively stuffed when he bade his father goodnight… never mind the dwarrow. No wonder Thranduil had seen Thorin's face soften a bit, much to the Elf’s eternal glee.

 

He blinked when he realised she stood in front of him, still humming softly, holding out a coronal of flowers. She had chosen white flowers only, most of them small, and there it was again, that most endearing blush.

“As lovely as your crown is, My Lord,” Bilbo could not help smiling. “Somehow my mind’s eye always prefers to see you in flowers.”

Unsure of why he did it, Thranduil carefully pulled his thorny crown off… and bent down to allow her to place the wreath on his head. Her hands, warm and so small, gently cupped his cheeks once done, earning her another blink. She merely smiled in return. “They suit you, My Lord.” Bilbo mused. “They make you look-… softer.” Her grin widened as she took a step away, her touch disappearing with her. “Though perhaps it would be considered an insult to imply the King of Elves _soft_ in any way?”

“I have been told that being soft is not necessarily a bad thing.” Thranduil murmured back, a hand coming up to touch delicate petals. How she had managed to guess the right size was beyond him. But then, she _was_ a rather remarkable little creature.

His remark earned him laughter, like tinkling bells through the starry night, and the King could not help but smile at her, even as the little hobbit lass went back to singing softly while picking more flowers.

 

-

 

Legolas couldn’t stop himself from smiling where he stood, well out of sight from the garden where his father and Bilbo enjoyed each other’s company. He was happy for them, truly he was. Bilbo, as small as she was, would not let anyone boss her around and there was a sharp wit to her that few dared show around the Elvenking. She was also generous and gentle enough to soothe Thranduil's aching heart, without either of them knowing. For while Thranduil was careful in how he approached the whole situation, clueless if anyone should ask Legolas, he _was_ warmer around the small creature. She made him smile, even laugh on occasion, she had managed to crack open a cold heart which had been tightly shut and guarded for more than an Age. Thranduil himself may not have noticed, yet, but Legolas sure had… he _saw_ how the very forest of Mirkwood was getting better, stronger to fight the sickness they had not quite been able to rid it of since the spiders and the darkness had set in. But they were slowly getting there and with Bilbo in Eryn Galen they would get there faster. And surely a loving son could give a hand to hurry things along?

 

-

 

“ _Adar_?” Legolas asked softly as they watched the Dwarven delegate leave for their mountain in the far distance. Amongst them Bilbo had turned back more than once to see if they were still watching. Unbeknownst to himself, but quite obviously to Legolas, Thranduil had smiled every time she did.

“Yes, _ion_?”

“Perhaps next time she comes to visit, you can ask her to stay?”

Only then did Thranduil turn to stare at his only child. He frowned slightly.

“Ask her to stay?” he enquired. Legolas offered his father a careful smile.

“There are so many reasons to ask her to stay and none to ask her not to.” he shrugged. “Greenwood seems better with her here, the very air feels lighter.” He tilted his head in a barely there bow. “ _You_ seem happier around her, _adar_. Surely that is the best reason of all? And she seems happy to be here too.”

Still frowning Thranduil turned back towards Erebor, the usually stern features softening into a shadow of a smile when he saw her turn back on her pony again, to see if they were still standing there watching.

“Maybe,” he finally relented. “Maybe I will.”

Legolas was sure his oblivious father would ask her, all she had to do was to smile at him again.

 

-

 

“Gandalf!” Bilbo greeted with a loud whoop when the wizard sauntered through the gates of Erebor not a week after she had returned from Mirkwood. “How are you, old friend? What shenanigans are you up to these days?” She laughed when the other harrumphed, offended by the very idea of him being _up to_ anything. “Come now, I will make tea and you can tell me about your travels. Where do you come from this time, Rohan?”

“Even farther, my dear Bilbo.” Gandalf chuckled, even as he was herded through the busy mountain, past countless busy dwarrow and their goods, guards, servants, merchants and scholars. He sank down in the designated chair for him, the only one in the mountain his size for all he knew, and nodded his thanks when the usual cup and saucer appeared. They really were remarkable hosts, hobbits. “I was down all the way to Gondor. I do hope you get to see Minas Tirith sometime, Bilbo, it is quite the spectacular sight.”

“I am sure it is, Gandalf.” the hobbit smiled at him, pouring leaves and hot water in his cup. “But I am busy right here in Erebor, the gardens certainly will not care for themselves and as much as I would love going on adventures, I think I have had quite enough of those for some time to come.”

“Ah… so it is not the proximity of a certain _elf_ then that keeps you here, my dear hobbit?” Gandalf asked, sipping his tea calmly but peering over the edge with an obvious twinkle in his eyes.

 

Bilbo sputtered indignantly, sorely tempted to throw the puff pastries in the insolent man’s face instead of offering them to him on a platter, but she was a _Baggins_ and Bagginses did not throw food, thank you very much. And the one time when Fíli and Kíli had ambushed her in the kitchen did not count, that was merely self-defence. And possibly revenge.

“Erebor is my _home_ , Gandalf, and there are many elves coming in and out of the mountain.” she muttered sourly, sipping her tea and scalding her tongue in the process. “The trade negotiations are much more civil now than they used to be.”

“And all because of you, I am sure.” the wizard nodded sagely. “But please do give me more credit than that, my dear, I am fully aware of where your heart lies.”

“I do not see how my silly inclinations have anything to do with me going to Gondor.” Bilbo raised a dubious eyebrow. She refused to blush, _refused_. The batty old wizard was up to something again and she wanted none of it. Last time she had been dragged along on an adventure she had ended up running halfway across Arda, running from everything from trolls to orcs and spiders… and _towards_ a dragon to boot! No, whatever he wanted her for now he would have to make do with someone else. There were plenty of hobbits in the Shire, many of them Tooks. Surely _one_ of them would feel so inclined to go along with whatever Gandalf was cooking up now?

 

“Not Gondor, my dear Bilbo,” Gandalf smiled. “I was thinking of _Beorn_.”

“Beorn?” Bilbo blinked at him, completely forgetting about the puff pastry halfway to her mouth… or the powdered sugar that was dusting her skirt. “Why do you want me to go to Beorn?”

“Because Beorn asked for you.” came the soft reply. “He is rather fond of you as I am sure you remember, and he asked me last time I visited, if I would bring you along next time. And he has saved some of his white honey for you too, my dear.”

“Oh!” Her delight was a joy to see. But then she frowned. “I have duties in Erebor, Gandalf.” Bilbo muttered. “And I cannot leave the gardens for too long, my flowers and herbs will wilt without the proper care.”

“I am sure you can spare a week, my dear.” the wizard admonished sternly. “Surely there are dwarves within the mountain who know how to water plants?”

“Yes, well…”

“No? Are they all really that incompetent?”

“It is not that they are incapable.” Bilbo grumbled. “I just do not trust them to know the difference between weeds and sprouts, and watered and drenched.”

“With the right instructions, I am confident they will manage. Come on now, Bilbo, you can spare an old friend at least a week!”

Bilbo pondered it, thinking about the council meetings, the gardens, the delegation from Mirkwood. There had not been one in over a month due to heavy rains and flooding, forcing the elves to remain in the forest to try to minimise as much of the damage as possible. Even Dale had had their fair share of problems, high up as they were. She knew for a fact that Thranduil wasn’t going to come to Erebor this time though, a letter from Legolas had told her that much as both the King and the Prince were currently stuck in Mirkwood due to other duties.

“Alright then.” she smiled. “I think I shall come with you. I do miss Beorn and his honey.”

She didn’t see the mischief in Gandalf's eyes and if she had, she probably would have changed her mind about going rather promptly.

 

-

 

The journey to Beorn was blissfully uneventful if a bit downright boring. The weather was nice for a ride, spring may have come and with it the sun but warmth had yet to arrive and Bilbo huddled into her fur-lined coat on top of her pony. Gandalf in usual fashion didn’t seem affected by anything and he was cheerfully humming to himself while riding. Seeing him in such a good mood when Bilbo couldn’t seem to stop her teeth from chattering worked no wonders for her mood but it wasn’t as if she could lash out at him. The old coot would most likely only scold her for complaining about things he could do nothing about, or plain ignore her. Bilbo was in no mood for either. Then Beorn met them outside his lands, greeting them with wide smiles and loud laughter, immediately making her feel better. He walked next to her the entire way to his house and even when he lifted her off the pony had she been a small child, Bilbo didn’t mind in the slightest. Even being called ‘Bunny’ didn’t faze her for Beorn was so genuinely joyful that it was of no consequence.

 

“I brought you gifts, Master Beorn.” Bilbo smiled once they were inside, where she could warm her feet by the fire and her hands on the tea cup one of Beorn's animals had so kindly served her. She offered the dog a kind smile and a scratch behind a furry ear, earning a happy yap for her effort, before turning to her pack next to her. Knowing that Beorn ate no meat, she had instead chosen to bring a variety of cheeses, some stronger than others, spices and three large flagons on elven wine. She was sure he was to appreciate that and he did, humming in pleasure after a large bite of one of the cheeses, making her cringe internally. But she said nothing, opting instead to smile happily when the table was set with a simple yet delicious meal.

They ate slowly with lots of conversation about everything from Gandalf's travels to Beorn's garden to _Bilbo's_ garden and what the Company was up to these days. However, it wasn’t until the Gandalf stated that he had to leave in the morning that Bilbo lost her temper.

 

Having been sitting next to him in a chair by the fire, she slipped off fast like a weasel to grab the wizard by the beard and pull him roughly down to her level, ignoring the wince and indignant yelp it earned her.

“You are up to something, you old troublemaker you!” Bilbo hissed angrily at him. “You were way too invested in getting me out of that mountain so I am now asking you, what do you know? Is there some kind of danger heading for Erebor? You better tell me right this instant or you will lose more than your beard, right here and now. Do you understand me, Wizard?”

“There is no danger to the Lonely Mountain, I assure you!” Gandalf pressed out, an strong hand having a firm grip on his beard right above her small one to make sure she didn’t actually tug any of it out. “And Beorn _did_ ask for you last time I was here!”

“I did, little bunny.” Beorn nodded, much too amused by the whole scenario for Gandalf's taste. “I have not seen you since last you stayed here, with your dwarves.”

“And if something happens to those dwarves while I am here, a _bunny_ is going to be the last of your worries, Gandalf.” Bilbo promised darkly, looking the blinking wizard right in the eyes. “Now tell me, _why_ make me come all the way here and then _leave_ me here, because I was under the impression we would stay together and then go back together.”

“Well, plans do change on occasion, my dear Bil-uuaarggh!”

“They change a bit too often in your case for me to put much trust in your word, wizard.”

“I have been summoned to Rivendell!”

“Why?”

“On wizard business!”

 

Bilbo let go of him then, taking almost sick pleasure in seeing how the old coot took a careful step away from her, putting the chair between them in case she went in for another swing at his long beard. “Such a rude hobbit.” he muttered sourly, carefully rubbing his chin to soothe the ache. “Why, I have never! The gall!”

“You invited 13 dwarves and yourself into my smial, so do not speak to me about discourtesy.” Bilbo replied calmly, sitting back down in her chair. At that point Beorn was laughing heartily, clearly delighted by the spirit in the little ‘bunny’. “Also, you calmly assumed Master Beorn would invite us into his house just because you knew we were in trouble otherwise. Likewise, you invited that very same Company into Lord Elrond's halls, knowing fully well that Thorin did not want to go there any more than Lord Elrond wanted us to come. You abuse the goodness of people’s hearts, Gandalf, it is only fair if someone gives your beard a good tug on occasion.”

There wasn’t much Gandalf could say to that, knowing that it was more than accurate. Besides, even if he _did_ dispute it, there was no one in the house who would be on his side, least of all the hobbit. But then Bilbo sighed heavily, giving him an anxious look over her cup. “Will you at least accompany me back, Gandalf? I would very much prefer not to make the journey back alone?”

“Yes, Bilbo.” Gandalf mumbled back, cautiously sinking back down in his seat. Thankfully, Bilbo never stayed angry for long, something that had saved more than one hide in Arda. “I will join you on the way back to Erebor.”

 

-

 

True to his promise, Gandalf left them in the early morning the next day. He eyed the hobbit suspiciously when she walked up to him but accepted the hug, and low apology, gratefully when small arms wrapped around his neck.

“Do now fear, my dear Bilbo.” he smiled at her, once up on his horse. “Beorn will keep you company.”

“Safe travels.” Beorn nodded, waving as the wizard rode off into the distance. Next to him Bilbo sighed.

“He will get there safely, will he not, Master Beorn?”

“He is a wizard, little bunny, he knows these lands better than most. I do not doubt him.”

Bilbo guessed it was true, for Gandalf, as prone as he was to getting people into trouble, was also rather skilled at getting the same people _out of_ trouble as well. Something he had proved on more than one occasion during the Company’s Quest not too long ago. Had it really already been _years_ since that whole mess? But what an adventure it had been!

Bilbo smiled then, following her large host back to the house. Well, there was no point in worrying. If anything, this was a little holiday away from dwarves, two little rascals in particular, and she was damn well going to enjoy it. Starting with second breakfast and a nice pot of tea.

 

-

 

“So that will be all then, for this time.” Thorin nodded as the Elven delegates readied themselves for the journey back to Mirkwood. “We will make sure to send payment as soon as we have the wares, at the agreed upon price of course. May Mahal’s hammer keep you safe on your journey.”

A blue eye damn near twitched when he saw the dratted tree-shaggers stall, obviously waiting for something. “She is not here.” he muttered after another minute of watching the elves fiddle with saddle straps, cloak pins and quivers. They immediately turned to him, inquiring.

“If I may ask, Your Highness,” the diplomat, for this visit, asked softly. “Where is Mistress Baggins?” Behind him the guards looked both suspicious and disappointed.

“She went with Tharkûn to visit the skinchanger.” the Dwarf King muttered.

“Oh…” the Elf frowned, clearly unsure on how to proceed. They had all kind of been anticipating getting a basket full of delicious goods on their journey back, as was routine at that point. “I see.”

“She will be back in a week or so, now shoo. Shoo!” Thorin finally snapped, waving at the glorified fairies to get going already. By Mahal's hammer, what had this world come to for Thorin Oakenshield to have to shoo elves out of his mountain, had they been no more than dwarflings sneaking into the pantry? He was convinced that somewhere out there the Valar were laughing at him. Sighing heavily, he returned into the mountain, rubbing his temples as he did. He needed a stiff drink. Perchance Bilbo had stashed some of her moonshine somewhere where Fíli and Kíli hadn’t yet found it?

 

-

 

A few days later found Bilbo out in Beorn's garden, picking flowers for a nice little bouquet for the table, when she was nearly hit on the head by a falling fruit. Blinking owlishly at the odd shape at the feet, she then looked up… and saw which tree she was standing under. The magic tree in Beorn's garden… she had a faint memory of what the skinchanger had said about it way back when. Something about… wishing fruit?

Honey brown eyes widened, staring up at the branches, heavy with oddly shimmering fruit. Yes, wishing fruit!

Beorn had warned them back then, sternly and in no uncertain terms, that they were _not_ allowed to eat the fruit from that tree because it was magic! Granted, the warning had been directed more at the princes, and quite possibly Nori, but Bilbo herself hadn’t had any interest whatsoever in it back then. Quite frankly, she had been fed up with adventures, and adding magic fruit who could do Eru knows what, had not been of the list of things she had interest in. But now… imagine if-… if-…

 

She dropped the flowers she had been gathering and scrambled up the tree as fast as she could. Just imagine! Imagine if she could just have one, _one_ fruit! She didn’t care if it was sweet, bitter or sour, if it could grant one wish! Bilbo was _this_ close to one of the dangling fruits, her fingertips brushing it briefly as she clung perilously to the branch, when strong hands suddenly plucked her down as she was no more than an apple ripe for picking. She couldn’t help the bleat of fear, not being prepared for being touched much less put firmly back on the ground. Beorn looked rather disapprovingly at her where he stood, his arms crossed over his strong chest.

“Little bunny knows this tree is off limits.” Beorn frowned at her. “This tree is dangerous, bunny has not forgotten, has she?”

“But-”

“No buts!” he cut her desperate plea off. “Little bunny cannot eat magic fruit. It will only do harm.” His voice softened then. “I do not wish to see little bunny hurt.”

Feeling like a fauntling scolded for getting caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar, Bilbo swallowed hard.

“I am sorry, Master Beorn.” she mumbled, not as much as glancing at the tree. “I promise I will not try again.”

She had given her word… but that didn’t stop her from looking back towards the tree as they made their way back to the house. She had been so close to getting her wish… so close.

 

Later that evening, she was sitting out on the bench, watching the stars twinkle up on the cloudless sky, while smoking her pipe, when Beorn practically boomed out of the house. Considering he was peering through the darkness towards the tree it was obvious what he was looking for. How rude!

“Is there something the matter, Master Beorn?” She kept her voice deliberately sweet and innocent when she asked, gratified when he flinched at her voice coming from right next to him rather than from the garden.

He had the decency to blush then, soothing her bruised pride even more.

“Uhm… no. I was just-…”

“I know what you thought, Master Beorn.” Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him, patting on the bench for him to sit down and join her. “However, I gave you my word and I will not break it. I might pick flowers around that tree, or even climb it again, should I so desire, but I will not touch the fruit.” She looked him in the eye. “Because I promised a friend I would not do so.”

Beorn heaved a heavy sigh, opting to flop down on the ground and lean against the bench instead of sitting on it. Somewhere out there in the darkness they heard crickets and frogs and the occasional scream from a fox. They were soothing sounds though, sounds of life and nature. Complete silence had been more cause for worry.

“I am sorry, little bunny. I should have trusted you.”

“Aye… you should.” she murmured, but didn’t sound upset. Had it been her, she probably would have jumped to the same conclusions had she plucked a friend out of a magic tree earlier in the day. Somewhere at the back of her mind she wondered if the lads would have tried picking the fruit after all if Dwalin and Thorin had not threatened them with bodily harm had they gone against their gracious host. Most likely they would have and Eru only knows what kind of trouble they would have been in then. Seriously, now in hindsight, she should have known better herself. But then again… the heart cannot control its desires.

 

“Tell me…” Beorn rumbled after a long while in comfortable silence. “Why would little bunny want to eat magic fruit? What do you wish for?”

“I am a hobbit.” Bilbo shrugged, puffing on her pipe. She was no fool and had come to realise somewhere through supper that this was probably why Gandalf had wanted her to come here. As backhanded as his care was, the batty old wizard had probably not taken Beorn's consternation into account. Gandalf seldom did seem to take such trifles into account. “I am a hobbit… who have given my heart to an elf.” Her voice was low, calm… warm. “There are no chances of a relationship between us when he is twice my size, and more often than not I can be passed off as a child, even in the eyes of Men.” She offered the skinchanger a soft smile. “I thought that maybe if I was an elf he would return my love.”

Beorn seemed to ponder that for a while, not saying anything for a good long moment. When he finally did decide to speak, he nearly caught her off guard, deep in thought as she was.

“Does this elf love little bunny?”

“I do not know.” Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle, tapping her pipe against her heel to ash it out. “He is kind to me, and he is gentle. Only hope made me climb that tree in the first place.”

“Would it not be better to love another little bunny?”

“Most definitely it would be easier.” Bilbo laughed softly, looking up at the night sky. “But what fun is there in leading an easy life?” She turned a warm smile to the frowning skinchanger, offering a little wink. “I lead an easy life back in the Shire and it was not until I went on a mad adventure that I realised just how miserable I had been. It was an easy life, aye… but I was unhappy all the same.”

“Magic fruit solves no problems, little bunny.”

“No, Master Beorn, I am sure they do not. But can you blame me for willing the risk?” Bilbo sighed then, jumping off the bench gracefully. “Well, I think I shall head to bed.” she smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I took a bath first?”

“No, little bunny, just ask the animals and they shall prepare one for you.”

“Thank you. And goodnight, Master Beorn.”

 

Later, when she returned to her room after a nice long soak smelling of honey and lavender, there was one shimmering fruit on her bed and Beorn was nowhere in sight. Swallowing hard Bilbo eyed the fruit, weighting it in her hands hesitantly. Was this a test? But, if it was here, and she hadn’t gotten it, and she doubted any of the animals had climbed that tree, especially in the dark… then Beorn himself must have given it to her. It didn’t smell of anything in particular when she lifted it to her nose. That and the shimmer to the peel unsettled her slightly. Fruit was not meant to shimmer! Or be scentless! But… wasn’t this what she wanted? A chance?

_‘Be brave, Bilbo.’_ she thought to herself, only imagining the voice as Belladonna’s. _‘You are a Took as much as a Baggins, have you not learned that the last few years?’_ With a deep breath for courage she took a big bite.

_‘I wish I was an elf.’_

 

-

 

When she woke up it felt as if she had Fíli and Kíli banging on drums behind her eyeballs. Loud and persistent. She also had a crick in her neck, a sore back and upon a glance in the mirror, patters from the floorboards across her cheek. But that wasn’t what kept her staring at herself. No, it was her face and hair. Her ears were still pointy but they were smaller now, her face just a little bit less round and her hair, gone were the unruly curls, replaced with a curtain of silken strawberry blonde tresses! Bilbo giggled almost hysterically when she looked at the rest of herself. As much as her generous curves still remained, she was taller now, her arms slender and graceful and her feet, once she finally found them, were smaller and lacked hair. It took her a while to find her balance, her centre of gravity was off compared to what she was used to and suddenly she realised that there was quite the distance to the floor! The furniture was all her size! Speaking of sizes… her nightgown was clearly no longer the correct size and sometime during the night it had ripped to reveal more than it concealed. Blushing furiously, Bilbo grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped herself in it… then proceeded to boom out of the bedroom, nearly scaring half of Beorn's animals in the process.

 

“Look, Master Beorn!” she babbled at the massive man. Actually, he was no longer that massive to her, he was still large by all means, but now she reached him to his chin as opposed to his hips. “I am an elf, it worked, I am an elf!”

“Little bunny is not so little anymore.” Beorn smiled sadly. “But still as pretty.”

Bilbo could not help it. With a vicelike grip on her sheet, she rushed up to the surprised man and peppered his face in tiny kisses.

“Thank you!” she pressed out happily, her heart beating hard against her ribs. “Thank you so much! I cannot begin to imagine how I can possibly repay you!”

Blushing slightly underneath the bushy beard, Beorn carefully pushed the ecstatic elf away. Despite her best efforts, he had glimpsed a bit too much of her and he preferred not seeing more than he already had.

“I want lit-… I want bunny to be happy.” he murmured softly. But then he turned serious. “My people have tales of that tree.” Honey brown eyes held so much joy when he met them and he didn’t want to be the one to damper any of it, but alas he had to be. “Most of the tales are not happy ones. You may get sick, bunny, the magic may not last. Very few have eaten the fruit for fear of what may come with it.”

Bilbo nodded, listening closely to the skinchanger’s words. Yet she couldn’t stop smiling.

“I understand the risks, Master Beorn. I knew before I ate it that magic never comes for free. But even if I die in a fortnight, just getting the chance to earn his love is worth it. Please do understand.”

And Beorn did understand, he really did. For what is more precious than love?

So he smiled back at her and nodded at her sheet.

“I will prepare a pack for you while my animals help you with that. Then I will escort you to Mirkwood’s border.”

 

-

 

Bilbo watched as Beorn lumbered back towards his lands, swallowing hard and then turned her focus on the darkness of Mirkwood. Beorn's animals had done their best to turn her sheet into something resembling a dress but there had only been so much to be done and better that than nothing. Also, Beorn himself had been kind enough to fashion shoes for her out of a few pieces of leather and she was certainly grateful for it for just a few steps outside his house on bare feet had been enough to convince her of their importance. It would definitely take her some time to get used to having such sensitive feet and she no longer blamed the dwarves for being so obsessed with their boots. With Sting at her hip, and suddenly all the comments about her ‘letter opener’ made sense, and a deep breath, Bilbo walked into the woods. Plenty of conversations with Thranduil and Legolas had told her that they had somewhat control over their spider-problem but that was hardly much comfort when she was all alone and there were so many other dangers in there. Just thinking of the Enchanted River and what it had done to Bombur chased shivers down her spine. Bilbo had helped carry Bombur's deadweight as much as she could but it had put a strain in their already diminishing strengths all the same. Him being confused at waking up in a dark forest and not in Bag End had hardly helped. Thank goodness for Bofur and Bifur, without the two to calm the large cook down there was no telling what might have happened in there.

 

Yet somehow, as she followed the meandering path through the forest, Bilbo was positive that she was less affected by whatever pollution that caused the sickness of the woods than she was last time. It was easier to stay focused, easier to spot the path once she thought she had lost it, and it was easier to hide when her sensitive ears picked up the slightest noise around her. She did use her ring on a few occasions, holding her breath as a large spider or two passed above her in the trees, chattering between themselves about hunger and those pesky elves getting more aggressive lately. Surely there were better places to live than Mirkwood these days? It would have been amusing to hear such a conversation had Bilbo not been scared out of her mind at the time. But as much as she managed to avoid spiders and black rivers, thankfully she never had to worry about orcs. Sting remained non-glowing and for that she was grateful.

 

Not that it stopped her from shrieking when she turned around and found herself staring down the shaft of an arrow. Blue eyes blinked almost comically at her. Legolas stared, his eyes turning the size of saucers when the elf in front of him collapsed before him, her legs no longer able to carry her.

“Bilbo?” he pressed out, his voice taking on a slightly higher pitch at the end. “Is that you?”

Around them, the guards stared too, lowering their bows and swords hesitantly. What in all of Arda was this?!

“Legolas. Thank Yavanna for all her blessings.” Bilbo shuddered. She had lost count of the days she had no idea how long ago. She wasn’t even entirely sure where she was, apart from somewhere in bloody Mirkwood.

“What happened to you? Why are you here? Why are you wearing a sheet?”

“I uhm… I was eh… I was on my way to Eryn Galen.” the former hobbit finally pressed out, offering the prince a hesitant smile. “I come from Master Beorn's.”

“And the sheet?”

“As much as I would love to wear them, my own clothes do not fit me anymore.” She looked down, feeling a bit silly. “We made do with what he had at hand, which ended up being a sheet.” She felt even more self-conscious when she noticed some of the guards’ stare at her curves through the rough fabric she wore. And Legolas must've noticed too because suddenly he helped her up and told her they were going back to the city. It was too dangerous to stay out in the forest for long. Bilbo was more than happy to come along, hungry and dirty as she was.

 

-

 

Hours later Bilbo was well-fed and finally clean. While she had luxuriated in the tub that had always been too large for her, soaking to get days of Mirkwood grime off, to wash her hair with lovely scented oils and simply relax, the seamstresses had been working hard to alter garments to fit her generous curves. For while Bilbo Baggins of Bag End may have become an elf, she had not turned into the same willowy frame that the other elves possessed. No, she still sported an ample bosom and hips that looked more at home on a hobbit than an elf. Not that she minded that at all, Bilbo was quite proud of her generous curves, and while she may not have ever been as _rotund_ as many hobbits tended to get, she was definitely softer than any elf out there. That along with her rosy skin rather than the usual pale, her strawberry blonde instead of dark or fair, made her stand out like a sore thumb. And yet she couldn’t help but laugh and smile as the elves helped her into the beautiful dress they had altered for her, and the soft leather shoes that fit her perfectly. She felt absolutely stunning when she looked in the mirror and saw her precious hairpins holding up small flowers along with the otherwise unruly tresses. But they weren’t unruly anymore, she no longer had to fight curls into submission to get her hair to look proper. Even the delicate pieces of jewellery at her wrist and the tips of her ears looked fitting rather than gaudy, as they would have on a hobbit. Bilbo Baggins felt like the prettiest of flowers in a meadow.

 

When she left the room, Legolas stood outside waiting for her, and his eyes softened upon seeing her.

“You look lovely, Bilbo.” he greeted her lowly, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. Neither of them paid any attention to the resulting blush on either elf’s cheeks. “He is waiting for you.”

Bilbo swallowed hard, taking the offered hand.

“Thank you, My Prince.” she smiled, earning a warm smile in return. Maybe, just maybe, she would be allowed to stay? Oh, how she hoped she would have a place there.

They walked through the palace in silence, ignoring silent elves that watched them in wonder as they passed. Who was this new beauty? Surely they knew all elves in Eryn Galen already? Why was she so familiar?

Bilbo only absentmindedly admitted to herself that she was nervous when they stopped outside the throne room. In there was the love of her life, her Thranduil. She ached for his love, for his touch.

“I wish you the best of luck, Bilbo.” Legolas smiled encouragingly at her. “Do not worry, I am sure he will adore you as much now as he did before. More. Of that I am certain.”

“I hope so.” Bilbo offered the prince a nervous smile. “It is all I wish.”

“Then go in there and claim your happiness.”

With that the doors opened and Bilbo found herself walking slowly into the throne room of the Elvenking.

 

The meandering path didn’t bother her, nor the dim light. She could see perfectly well in there and her eyes were focused on the throne at the far end and the man sitting there. She saw exactly when Thranduil noticed her coming towards him, she saw exactly when he realised there was something off about this new elf in his kingdom… and the second he realised just who she was she saw that too. He came down then from his throne, obviously confused by how a hobbit had magically turned herself into an elf. He tilted his head a bit to the side as he was wont to do, standing right before her only a head taller when he was usually so much more.

Bilbo smiled at him, a smile that revealed all the love in her heart for this once-cold King.

“Lord Thranduil.” His name rolled off her tongue softer than ever before, blue eyes blinking at her, not sure on what to focus.

“Bilbo?” he asked unsurely. “Such magic… where?”

“There are ways if you know where to look, My Lord.” she replied lowly. “And sometimes, friends come to your aid when they see you silently struggle.”

“But-… _why_!?” His hands when he cupped her cheeks were so gentle and warm, no longer big enough to cup her head, but rather just enough to cradle her cheek and stroke her ear. Her own hands came up to carefully grip his wrists and if she leaned into his touch, who could blame her?

“I did it for you.” she whispered, suddenly shy. “Because I love you so much.” Her smile grew warmer. She hadn’t known she could feel this much love without bursting, without there being pain along with the pounding of her heart behind her ribs. She felt light enough to fly away towards the very stars that they had gazed upon together. “And I hope you love me too.”

The look on his face was painful, like he had been brutally speared, those wonderful eyes distressed and full of sorrow. When he finally replied, his voice low and broken, only two words left him.

“…I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please do leave a little comment! It makes me write so much better and faster!


	3. Chapter 3

“…what?” Bilbo murmured, not quite believing her ears. “Thranduil?”

“I can’t.” Thranduil rasped, still holding on to her. His grip was firmer now, just a hint of desperate as he repeated himself. His eyes, those wonderful blue eyes showed his despair openly. “I can’t, Bilbo, I can’t!”

“Did I-…” Bilbo swallowed hard, her hands now like vices around the Elvenking’s wrists. She was confused, so confused, frowning at the taller elf. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “Did I do something wrong?” Her voice came out small and broken, even to her own ears it sounded pitiful.

“Oh, Bilbo…” Thranduil whispered, his eyes so overwhelmingly sad as they watched her. “Bilbo…”

“Is it _me_?” Her voice was calm when she asked, composed. Suddenly she was… fearless.

Thranduil didn’t answer… and that was all the answer she needed.

“I see.” she pressed out, her voice now low and soft. “Please let go of me, My Lord.”

There were no tears running down her face when she met his gaze, no tears at all. Where Thranduil had always been the composed one before, the stoic Elf King, he was now the one who looked broken, anguish written across the timeless features. And where Bilbo had always worn her heart on her sleeve, she was now impossible to read. “I apologise for wasting your time, My Lord.” she said gently, tilting her head in a graceful bow. “I shall leave you alone now.” She offered him one last smile, as warm as she could muster.

Not waiting for him to reply she returned the way she had come from, walking down the path on light feet, the only noise the rustling of her dress. She exited the room and met Legolas' questioning gaze calmly.

“I would like to return to my room now, Prince Legolas.” she said softly.

“Did he-” Sorrow and sympathy filled the prince’s eyes as he watched her, slim eyebrows pulled down in a slight frown. “Oh no.” He lifted a hand to place on her shoulder but Bilbo moved away with a soft step aside. She offered him a faint smile. “Prince Legolas, _please_ …”

“Bilbo, what happened in there?”

“Nothing.” came the low reply. “Absolutely nothing.”

 

Once back in her rooms Bilbo found herself standing in the middle with nothing to do. Her head was surprisingly empty of thoughts. She felt nothing at all. There was nothing she wanted or needed to do, yet her body buzzed with restless energy. Bilbo positively vibrated where she stood, silent and confused, yet so very calm. She ended up just standing there for hours.

 

-

 

She knew Legolas was worried about her, he had pleaded with her to come out, to at least eat something, but the tray outside her rooms had been untouched and the guards had not seen hide nor hair of their guest. Unsurprisingly, she had no desire to see anybody, and she felt no hunger. Rather, the more hours flew by, the more restless she got until Bilbo _knew_ that she simply had to get out of Mirkwood. She was starting to feel like the trees around her, the very walls, were starting to creep up on her and finally she snapped. Calmly she changed back into the odd outfit she had arrived in, feeling like the sheet fit her better than the wonderful clothes the Mirkwood Elves had prepared for her. She even left the soft shoes, not able to keep anything that would remind her of this disaster of a day.

 

When she cracked the door open to her rooms, in the wee hours of night, she was delighted to find the corridor empty of guards and servants. Still, she was unwilling to take any risks and used her ring to silently move through the palace to the stables, where she took it off, hoping to find a horse she could borrow to go to Dale. The horses were all large, more so than the ponies she was used to, and none of them seemed to be willing to go anywhere with this unfamiliar elf. Bilbo though wasn’t going to force anything, she knew from experience that there was no point. So, if she couldn’t ride, then she’d bloody walk!

Listening to any sounds from the guards, she pussyfooted out of the stables, so close to the gates… when a low snort nearly had her jumping out of her skin. With her heart in her throat she turned around, prepared to face an angry King… only to blink when she was met with dark, intelligent eyes. “Arasson.” she breathed, pressing out a barely there smile. “You scared me.”

The large elk blinked at her, moving closer to smell her, his soft snout brushing across her hair and face, down to her hands. His ears twitched a bit but otherwise he did nothing more. She swallowed hard, pressing out another hint of a smile. “I am sorry.” Bilbo murmured softly. “I have no treats for you this time, Arasson, maybe next time you and your Master visit Erebor.” Offering the animal a few scritches, Bilbo continued sneaking across the courtyard, holding her breath while hiding in the shadows as a couple of guards passed, and then finally out of Eryn Galen. Once out she hurried as fast as she could through the darkness, knowing the elven guards would find her easily if she lingered. A rustle had her freezing in her tracks, barely containing a meep when a soft warm snout brushed against her shoulder. Again she found herself blinking at the large elk.

She frowned slightly when Arasson walked up to her… then suddenly bent his forelegs in an obvious invitation. Bilbo hesitated for only a second. Then she scurried up on the strong back and held on for dear life as Arasson started running through the dark forest, as sure of his step as he had ever been.

 

-

 

She reached Dale right after dusk, offering the elk a tender hug to the large head and a soft kiss to his snout in gratitude after she had slid off his back. With a few words of appreciation, she sent him back to the woods, not wanting him to get in trouble for having helped her flee the realm of the Woodland Elves. Arasson came and went as he wished but she doubted they would fail to notice him being gone for that long, Thranduil did like to go out on his own occasionally. Having made sure she still had everything in her pack, Bilbo made her way in to Dale, seeing how the city of Men settled down with the setting sun to end their day. She had no intentions of staying in Dale though, as tempting as it was to rest. No, Bilbo wanted to go _home_. So she simply hurried through the city, ignoring the few people still out and about who blinked questioningly at this lonesome elf-maiden wearing a sheet, and continued towards Erebor once through it. With longer legs and the sheer desire to get there faster, she made the trek much faster than she ever had before, coming up to the large gate of Erebor not long after. She mentally cringed at the looks the guards gave her, fully aware of the chaos that would go down in a bit.

“Halt! Who seeks entrance to Erebor?” a gruff guard hollered from upon the battlement.

“Bilbo Baggins!” she replied loudly. “Burglar of King Thorin Oakenshield's Company!”

“Mistress Baggins is a hobbit, elf!” another guard snorted at her, causing her to sigh and roll her eyes. Maybe she should have stopped in Dale to talk to Bard after all.

“Yes, I am fully aware.” Bilbo answered. “Yet here I am, an elf before you. If you do not believe me to be who I claim to be, then surely you do not mind sending for Master Dwalin to ascertain my identity? For I assume he has not lost his role as Captain of the Royal Guard during my short absence?”

 

Half an hour later she was sitting in a room full of guards, waiting for Dwalin to come. And when he did…

“By Durin’s Beard, what has happened to you, lass?” the warrior pressed out, having stared at her for damn near 5 minutes in utter silence. Bilbo grimaced, uncomfortable on the chair where she sat.

“Good evening to you too, Master Dwalin.” She offered him a parody of a smile. “Thank you for allowing me into the mountain. Obviously, the guards did not believe me when I said who I was.”

Dwalin flopped down in his own seat with a clatter. A strong hand rubbed his face and beard while a deep sigh left him in a whoosh of air. He ended up absentmindedly rubbing his bald head while he tried not to outright stare at her. Again.

“Thorin is going to have a conniption.”

 

-

 

“WHAT IN ALL OF ARDA-!” Thorin screeched not 2 minutes after he had entered the hall where she was waiting, having recognised her almost immediately. “What have the blasted tree-shaggers done now!?” He rushed up to her, only getting angrier when he realised he had to look _up_ instead of down at her. While Thorin rambled and raged, Fíli and Kíli stared at her in wide-eyed silence. Even Balin, who was usually calm and composed, looked frazzled where he stood, unsure of how to react to this new arrangement. Finally, it was Fíli who approached her, eyeing her carefully.

 

“What happened?” he asked softly. While Thorin was too angry to see, or perhaps too angry to look closer, Fíli saw the pain in her eyes, the weariness held at bay in the usually warm honey brown eyes. “Did the elves do this?”

“No,” Bilbo smiled softly, sitting down on a chair. Somewhere at the back of her mind she suddenly understood how Gandalf must have felt every time he came to visit her in her smial in the Shire, what with how her knees were higher than her rump. The furniture was all too small of a sudden. “I did this. Do you remember the magic tree in Beorn's garden?”

Kíli frowned slightly, coming up to the elf-maiden. “The wishing fruit?”

Bilbo nodded slightly, resting her hands in her lap.

“Why would you wish to become an elf?”

“Because she loves one.” Fíli murmured softly, not noticing how his raging uncle suddenly stopped somewhere behind him. He gently took Bilbo's hands into his, holding them tenderly. “You wished to become an elf so Thranduil would love you?”

 

Bilbo nodded her head, her gaze lowing as fat tears spilled down her cheeks. She knew not where they came from, she hadn’t cried a single one since the evening before when she had humiliated herself in front of the King of Elves, but now, when met with such sympathy, they came unbidden.

“I thought he was unable to return my feelings because I was a hobbit.” The laugh she released was frail, and cracked halfway through. An ugly sound, even to her own ears. She wasn’t really aware of clinging to Fíli's hands either. “But it was because of _me_. I was naïve and thought that if I became an elf, he would accept me and love me, but my being a hobbit was never the problem. Oh Fíli, what will I do now?” Unasked for sobs wrecked her body where she sat, her head hanging in as much shame as despair as she cried. When warm arms suddenly wrapped her up in a tight hug, she couldn’t take it any longer and clung desperately to Kíli, who only held her harder. There really wasn’t anything anyone could do more than to hold her and offer her comfort in her rue.

 

-

 

Bilbo spent most of the next two weeks away from the prying eyes of the Ereborean public by keeping to the garden terraces where she worked hard to catch up with what she had missed during her time away. Granted, there wasn’t much to do, the dwarrow who had been in charge during her short absence had done a good job, but she needed to not think and so she immersed herself in hard work. She weeded every single little unwanted shoot she could find, she watered and pruned and planted. And when there wasn’t more she could do in the gardens, she picked wildflowers to put in vases and pots around the palace. She kept herself moving, always tending to one project after another because if she stopped for as much as a minute, her mind wandered towards Mirkwood and the Elf King there. So she worked. The Company tried to make her slow down, to make her rest, but she wasn’t able to sit down with them for long before her skin started to itch and she needed to get up and _do_ something. Not to mention… she heard the whispers. Which is why she wasn’t surprised when Thorin sought her out on the terraces one warm early summer evening after supper.

 

She offered him a glance and a warm smile where she kneeled in the dirt, going over the beds once more for any potential weeds creeping into her plantations.

“Thorin, good evening.”

“Good evening, Bilbo.” the Dwarf King replied softly, casually sinking down on a nearby bench, watching her calmly as she worked, nimble hands doing quick work of whatever weeds she found. Then he heaved a heavy sigh, something akin to remorse taking over the handsome features. “Bilbo… we need to talk.” he said lowly, his voice carefully kept warm and soft. She offered him another quick smile.

“Is this about the nobles wanting me out of the mountain because I am an elf now?” she asked lowly, catching him completely off guard.

“You knew?” he pressed out, not entirely sure he wanted to know how she knew. Most likely she had overheard the nasty rumours, because the nobles hadn’t exactly been discreet in voicing their opinions, but still. It must have hurt her regardless. She shrugged, finally sitting back on her heels, her hands carefully clasped in her lap.

“I have heard words.” she murmured. “Elven hearing is sharper than that of a hobbit, and it is hard to _not_ hear the things they say when they are so obvious in their dislike. Not that that came as a surprise I suppose.”

“Oh, Bilbo…” Thorin pressed out, coming up to carefully cup the elf-maiden’s face. He looked torn. “I am so sorry. The political climate in Erebor is still so fragile and I do not want anyone to harm you just because you are under my protection, elf or no.”

The smile she offered him made his heart ache. Bilbo had known this was coming, and she had accepted it.

“Do not worry about me, Thorin.” she murmured. “I have already been in contact with King Bard, he has very generously accepted me in Dale.”

 

Swallowing hard Thorin leaned in to touch his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he did so. As much as he despised the bloody elves, this particular one was oh so precious to him. Bilbo had done so much for Thorin, for his Company, for his _people_ , and it tore him apart inside not to be able to help her in this, to keep her safe. Had it been up to him he simply would have commissioned larger furniture for her and that would have been the end of it, but he was King and as such he had obligations to more than just his friends. It pained him greatly that he couldn’t just shut the bloody whiners up like he so dearly wanted to. If he used brute force as a ruler he'd have an uproar, or worse, a revolt, on his hands in weeks, if not days.

“We will send plenty of gold with you.” he murmured on a tired sigh. “Plenty enough so all your needs will be easily met.”

“I do not need-” she began but he cut her off, with a slightly harsher tap to her forehead.

“Do not fight me on this, Bilbo.” Thorin growled. “I may not be able to keep you safe here in Erebor, but I will be damned if I cannot make the best of the situation and keep you safe in Dale. We will make sure you will live there in comfort, and should you ever need anything all you need is to come to us. Do you hear me… _elf_?”

Bilbo couldn’t hold back the snort. “Loud and clear… _dwarf_.”

“Good.” With yet another sigh, Thorin finally took a step back. Yet his touch to her face remained. “Why, out of _all_ the bloody tree-shaggers in Mirkwood, did you have to go and fall in love with the biggest clot of them all?” he muttered sourly. His voice and eyes gentled, impossibly fond of her as he was. “When so many of us here watched you hoping for your attention?”

“He treated me nice.” Bilbo whispered weakly, trying to lower her head but his grip firmed, keeping her gaze on his.

“Do we not treat you well?” Thorin asked lowly, frowning as he was wont to do.

“You do, you all do.” She swallowed hard, offering a frail smile. “But perhaps you are all too close. You are all family to me and I was not willing to risk a single one of you to something as silly and fickle as infatuation… and he was there. Maybe that was enough?”

“Bilbo… any one of us would have been honoured to be your One. I am sorry we did not see your need for companionship… or intimacy.”

 

The elf couldn’t help the chuckle then. “I do not think it is possible to get any closer than the Company, Thorin.” she muttered. “After a year on the road, where most of you farted, belched and scratched your groins openly in front of me, perhaps what I needed was a touch of mystery.”

“If Thranduil's farts smell like roses I swear on Mahal's Beard, I will go down to the treasury, dig out the Arkenstone and _eat it_!” the Dwarven King snapped angrily, which only earned him a louder bout of laughter from the former hobbit. Good, half of his rant had been meant to make her laugh. Only half though.

“I doubt the King of Elves stoops so low as to be bothered by mere flatulence.”

That was hardly the answer Thorin expected but he couldn’t help the snort of laughter any more than she could. They laughed together for a bit… but then the dwarf sighed.

“We will help you, Bilbo.” he murmured softly. “You helped us reclaim Erebor and you helped us strengthen the peace between three kingdoms. The least we can do for you is make sure you lack for nothing.”

 

“Promise me you will not blame Thranduil for this.” Bilbo suddenly begged, grabbing his wrists. Her eyes when they met clear blue were pleading. “He holds no blame in any of it. I gave my heart of my own volition, it is not his fault that he is unable to return my feelings, Thorin!”

“Bilbo, he hurt-”

“Promise me, Thorin, not to place any blame on Thranduil! He has done nothing wrong! This that has happened is between me and him, not between you and him, this is not something political!”

She could see that he wanted to protest, that he wanted to get even with the darn elf _somehow_ for having hurt a precious member of Thorin's Company… but he also knew she was right. There was nothing in the entire situation that warranted him getting involved, as a ruler of Erebor or otherwise. Thorin wasn’t happy about any of it, but he accepted it. He had learned a thing or two from the former hobbit over the years after all.

“Alright, I promise I will not say anything about all this. But if he as much as _breathes_ a single bad word about you, Bilbo,” He pointed his finger at her, earning a raised eyebrow in return. “I will rip that thorny bush off his head and shove it up his arse!”

 

-

 

King Bard of Dale was more than delighted to accept Bilbo Baggins into his city permanently. Most likely he wondered around how the hobbit had turned into an elf, but he was an intelligent man, he was aware of the tension between his two neighbours, as peaceful as they were as of late, and so he never asked why when the elf-maiden asked permission to come live in Dale. There were plenty of Men and Dwarves alike in the rebuilt city, being a hub of trade as it was, and it made perfect sense to him for her to stay there, close to Erebor, if she couldn’t actually live in the mountain. Sigrid and Tilda were absolutely delighted with their new resident elf and it was through them that Bilbo came to stay with King Bard and his family at their residence. Bard had no palace and neither did he desire one, but he did live in a luxurious house in the middle of Dale where he would be close to his people should they need him. He was a fair ruler, as unwilling as he had been in accepting the title and responsibility, but under him Dale flourished once more, like it had done many years before under his ancestor’s reign, Lord Girion. His house was large, as it had to be for all the political guests to have somewhere to stay during their visits, and there were plenty of servants who worked there, tending to chores the king no longer had time for. The girls helped their father as much as they could, but as princesses of Dale, they had much to learn about this new world of politics that they were thrust into. Bain did try to spend time with her, learning a thing or two about hobbits, but he was the heir to the throne and had much to learn and not much time to learn it all in. It was obvious the boy tried his hardest to live up to the expectations suddenly on his shoulders, as apprehensive as he was about it all having been born and raised in the squalor or Laketown under the former Master’s rule, but he did well in his lessons, as many as they were… which left Bilbo mostly on her own.

 

She spent hours upon hours walking around Dale, enjoying this lovely city of Men, now that she didn’t have to worry about getting trampled anymore. The dwarves had rebuilt the outer walls and reinforced them, making Dale strong and safe in case of siege and Thorin had proudly let Bard know that it would take a lot more than a thick troll head or two to get through those walls now. It brought Bilbo joy to see how these people had bounced back from the tragedy that struck Laketown, how they returned to daily life so easily, and while many had followed Bard to rebuild Dale, there were just as many who had opted to stay in Laketown and start over there. After all, there was plenty of fish in the lake and both Dale and Erebor did bring good trade. And trade they did. The market was full of people hollering out offers and prices. Everything from metalwork to fabrics to spices. She saw dwarrow from Erebor and the Iron Hills, she saw Men from Dale and Rohan, and even a few from Gondor. There were elves there of course, but while they always greeted each other when they ran into one another, Bilbo mostly avoided them if she could. The elves never stayed for long either, they got what they came for, traded their goods and then returned to Mirkwood. But these were Elven merchants, when Elven _envoys_ were to arrive, Bilbo made herself scarce. Very conveniently, on the days that political meetings were to be held in Dale, Bilbo visited Erebor. She still had those terraces there to tend to after all and it would be no good to leave those for too long without proper care. Thorin never said anything about it, he merely tapped his forehead to hers before setting out towards Dale with his own guard and company.

 

Obviously, it only worked out for so long before she got cornered. Legolas was stubborn at the best of times and downright mulish at the worst. He managed to catch her on a sunny day when she was outside of Dale, picking flowers for the many vases around Bard’s house.

“You have been avoiding me, _Mellon nin_.”

Having stiffened at first, Bilbo glanced over her shoulder… only to be met with a friendly smile. Narrowing her eyes at him for a second, she then shrugged and returned to carefully pick and put flowers in her flower picking basket. She was thinking garlands, and perhaps a wreath or two. She’d need more flowers though.

“I have done no such thing.” she replied calmly, eyeing a daisy critically. “Why would you say such a thing, Prince Legolas?”

“I have been looking for you during my visits to Erebor and not long ago, I was told you had moved to Dale. Yet upon my every visit to Dale, whenever I have asked about your whereabouts I have been told you have gone to Erebor.” Legolas answered just as calmly, though with a touch of sting perhaps. “And each and every message I have sent with our dignitaries, have returned to me unopened.”

“Coincidence, I assure you.” Bilbo flashed him a sweet smile, earning herself a slightly raised eyebrow from the other elf. “I most definitely do not plan my visits to Erebor around the Elven delegations from Mirkwood. That would be rude, would it not?”

“And yet, here I am.” Legolas muttered, crossing his arms over his chest while levelling her with a truly unimpressed stare. “On my own, with no prior notification of my arrival, so surely it must be pure _luck_ that I have finally found you.”

“…possibly?”

“I would hate to call one of my own a liar.” the blond elf sighed then, offering her a soft smile.

 

The smile she offered him in return was pointed… and a touch bitter.

“But I am not one of your people, Prince Legolas, I am a hobbit.”

“Bilbo, as clear as I stand here before you, you are an elf and belong to my people.” Legolas frowned, stepping closer to sit down on a rock in front of her. His hand when he touched her arm was gentle, asking her attention.

When she looked up to meet his gaze she looked miserable, and yet she smiled softly at him.

“I am as much a hobbit as I was when I was born, Prince Legolas.” she said softly where she sat. The wind was stronger out here in the open and she constantly brushed tresses of silky hair out of her face. “Thran-…” She coughed slightly, starting over when the name got stuck in her throat. “Your father once told me, that elves are made of starlight, that they shine with the brightest and most beautiful of light and that you can see that light within each other.” She smiled up at him, a sweet little smile that struck a chord within him. “So tell me truthfully, My Elven Prince, do you see such light when you look at me?”

There was no way he could lie about such a thing and they both knew it. When his expression fell she simply chuckled and continued picking her flowers. “See? I am an elf in appearance only, on the inside I am every bit the hobbit that left the Shire to go on an adventure years ago. Magic fruit cannot change that.”

“Is that why you refuse to see us? Why you left Mirkwood?” Legolas asked, his voice low and imploring.

“As young as you are to your own people, you are still many years my senior, Prince Legolas, I should think you know fully well why I will not return to Mirkwood.” Bilbo sighed, rising to her feet and padding over to another patch of flowers. “I may not have much dignity left, but I do have a rather strong sense of self-preservation. Being anywhere near your King _hurts_.”

“My father seems lost lately.” Legolas murmured, knowing his voice would carry over the wind. “He misses you dearly.”

 

“Yet he cannot return my feelings.” the strawberry blonde elf snapped, only to offer the prince an apologetic glance at her outburst. Legolas didn’t seem to care though. Finally giving up the flower picking, for now, Bilbo sat back and looked out over the landscape. She saw mountains all along the horizon, snow high up on Erebor's peak, Esgaroth far away down by the shore of Long Lake and if she turned her head to the left she would see the dark line of Mirkwood. Before she had left on her grand adventure, it would never have occurred to her to feel at home anywhere else than the Shire, to love this land just as much as she loved the rolling green hills from which she stemmed. But she had come to _love_ the mountain tops, the glitter of the surface on the lake and the stark landscape around Erebor and Dale. Ever so slowly the green returned to the surroundings, the Men of Dale had even planted orchards on the other side of the city, and while it would never get as fertile or lush as her beloved Shire, it held a different kind of beauty, rawer but breath-taking all the same. This land had become _home_ to her and she loved it. As much as she missed Bag End, she knew she would have lived alone in her family home and the large smial was meant to be filled with laughter and noise, a family… and her cousins did that just fine. Not that a family was something the Valar were willing to bless _her_ with outside of the Company it seemed.

 

“I know he was married once.” she murmured, once again stroking an errant tress behind a pointy ear. “One would have to be blind in one eye and look in the other direction to miss that, especially considering he has a son… and I suppose I forgot that elves and hobbits are not alike. You see, when a hobbit loses their spouse, we grieve, we mourn… but if we are lucky, we might find love again. It is rare, but happens often enough.” She offered the silent elf a quick glance, turning her smile towards the view more than her company. “Somewhere along the line I simply ignored the possibility that your father might still be very much in love with your mother, because if he was, what chance was there for _me_? I do not blame Lord Thranduil for anything, he has done nothing wrong, but for my own sake I stay away. Surely you understand that I do not wish to cause myself anymore hurt than I already have? So if he seems lost now, he will get over it eventually.”

How could Legolas possibly say anything to that? He may not have found his own love yet, but he could definitely understand the desire to stay clear of more heartache. However…

“Does that mean I have to lose you too, Bilbo?” he asked lowly. “You are a very dear friend, I would hate to lose you just because of my father.”

“No, My Prince, I suppose not.”

After a long moment of comfortable silence, Legolas frowned, a question suddenly coming to mind.

“How did you get out of Mirkwood? We searched for you all the way to our border but could not find you.”

“I rode.” came the simple answer.

“But no horses had left the stables! We would have noticed a missing steed!”

The little smile she flashed him then, was mischievous and tugged at his curiosity.

“Why, My Prince, I never said anything about horses.”

 

-

 

Legolas proved to be little short of a pain in the arse after that talk. He popped up like mushrooms after heavy rains, always catching her off guard so she couldn’t slip away. At that point Bilbo was fairly certain it brought him great joy to be able to catch her like that, and he always literally caught her, sweeping her up in a tight hug while positively cooing at the miffed elf-maiden. She would have been indignant at such behaviour had it been anybody else but Legolas was so happy she could rarely build up any real anger whenever he suddenly swooped her up into a rib-creaking hug. Though she did mutter under her breath whenever he did so, much to his eternal glee. If anything, it taught her how to move even softer on her feet, making no noise whatsoever, how to control this larger body of hers and somewhere around mid-summer, it had turned into a game of hide and seek. Knowing Dale a lot better than he did, Bilbo was clearly at an advantage but as they had already discovered, the Elf Prince was nothing if not stubborn. He found her in the most outrageous locations, always laughing brightly when he did, as if he'd get rewarded for his perseverance. Bilbo couldn’t help it, she adored him. More often than not she laughed in delight when he found her in whatever hidey-hole she had managed to find. Somewhere deep down she suspected the elf liked these games, to play like a child and not just bear the burden of being a warrior and Thranduil's heir. And well, if she could provide him with that, who was she to complain about it?

 

Obviously, she didn’t spend all her days running around like a fauntling. Legolas did have responsibilities and duties in Mirkwood after all and the times when he could get away to Dale for nothing but fun were few. And elf or no, Bilbo was not a creature to sit idly by either. She soon learned that Bard and his children adored her cooking, that even the usually stoic King of Dale graced her with the sweetest of smiles when he enjoyed one of her sinfully delicious puff pastries, with powdered sugar raining down his chin and shirt. Bain in particular had a sweet tooth and would sneak into the kitchens when she least expected it to ask her for a treat. She never denied him, not once. Figuring she might as well help the servants in the house, she took on more chores. She scrubbed floors and pots and pans, she swept and cooked, dusted and made sure every vase in the house was always filled with fresh flowers. Being so busy, it was hardly surprising when she eventually dropped one ball out of all the ones she juggled and simply forgot that another Elven delegation was to visit Dale… and of course the one time she forgot, was the one time Thranduil himself was to come.

 

It was a lovely day that day, sunny with a nice breeze blowing and Bilbo was out hanging laundry. Having just finished hanging and stretching the last of the sheets is when she saw him. Thranduil sat on Arasson, as gallant and gorgeous as always, staring at her where she stood by the clotheslines less than 50 paces away. She watched him, shocked at first, caught unawares as she was, but then the shock melted away to leave only sadness. She had no place beside him, or even in his world. She bent down to pick up her basket, resting it on her hip while a small hand brushed stray tresses from her face. Her heart ached inside her chest, longed to go to him, to be held and loved in return. But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? There was no love there to find. And she had already professed her love for him twice, being rejected both times. Only a fool does the same thing over and over, expecting different results… and Bilbo Baggins was no fool. So instead she offered him a tiny smile, shook her head… and walked away. She had chores to do.

 

-

 

Thranduil knew that these meetings were important, he knew they had to discuss further trade agreements and how important it was for Dale to keep getting supplies from the Woodland Realm, especially since they had yet to get much from their own fields… that didn’t stop him from getting bored by it all though. He was _bored_ with politics and would have much rather stayed at home where he could have enjoyed himself in a nice long bath instead. He would have ordered for minstrels to sing for him while he bathed, maybe even arranged for a tale to be read to-… He found himself stopping, frozen in his seat as he heard singing, that wonderful _voice_ which he hadn’t heard in much too long. Blue eyes turned to the side, at first not seeing the source but then he saw her. Bilbo was standing a bit away, crooning to herself while hanging up laundry, looking oddly content while tending to chores that surely were beneath her. His throat went dry when she finished with the last sheet and finally saw him, her song dying out immediately. Even from that distance he saw the impossible sorrow fill those warm honey brown eyes, the _hurt_ she felt just from seeing him again after their last heart-breaking meeting. She didn’t light up like he so dearly wanted her to, didn’t grace him with that joy he had become accustomed to see on her face whenever she saw him. Instead she picked her basket up, brushing a stray tress behind her ear and offered him a smile so painfully forced it made his heart ache just to see it. As if she knew he had been about to go to her she shook her head softly, stopping him before he could as much as move to dismount, then walked away without another word. He watched her disappear behind the hill, unable to do much else but stare for a moment after. He _missed_ her. He missed her voice, her sharp wit and her joy. Only when his guard hesitantly called him did Thranduil snap back to reality and urge Arasson into moving forward. But not even as he walked into the meeting with Bard, seeing her touch all around the Man’s home, did she leave his mind.

 

-

 

“Father, a moment if you please?” Legolas asked softly. Thranduil had returned a mere few days before from Dale and the prince wasn’t the only one who had noticed the Elvenking so distracted. Even the servants wondered what was wrong. But Legolas didn’t wonder, he already knew.

“Hm?” Thranduil frowned, snapping back from where his thoughts had ventured. He wasn’t even entirely sure to where… though somehow he still felt the scent of pipeweed, flowers and spices in his nose. “Why, yes of course, my son. What can I do for you?”

“May I speak plainly, father?”

“You may.” the Elf King replied, unsure of where this conversation was heading. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, there is nothing wrong.” Legolas answered… only to frown and backtrack. “Actually, there is. I was wondering… _why_ do you deny yourself, father, when it is plain to see how much you care for Bilbo?” He stepped up to the other elf, tilting his head much like his father tended to do when there was something he didn’t quite understand. “Have you not mourned enough, father?” he asked softly. “Mother awaits you in the Undying Lands but Bilbo is here _now_ , why are you rejecting her when you so evidently love her?”

Thranduil looked at his only son as if he had never seen him before.

“How can you even ask me that?” he pressed out. “Your mother may no longer be here but she is still very much my wife!”

“Even so, she has been gone for a long time.” Legolas replied lowly. “I doubt she would have wanted to see you suffer so.” The elven prince swallowed hard. “Why deny yourself love when it is willingly given?”

“Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me with this halfling, _ion nin_?” Thranduil asked right back, feeling a twinge of irritation sneak into his voice. Why were they discussing this at all!? It made no sense!

“Because, _Adad_ , she makes you _smile_.” came the soft answer. “I have not seen you this happy in-…” The younger elf stopped to think. “I do not think I have ever seen you this happy, father.” Legolas sighed, suddenly feeling awkward. “Can you blame me for wanting and wishing with all my might for you to find happiness again? You have mourned for so long your heart grew cold from it but Bilbo _reached_ you somehow. She is _good_ for you and I can with certainty say that there is not a single elf in all of Mirkwood who would deny you this chance, if only you took it.” Carefully he lifted a large hand to press to his cheek, looking his stunned father in the eyes as he did so. Legolas couldn’t help the tiny smile. “So I _beg_ of you, _Adad_ , grasp this chance with both hands and be grateful. Bilbo gave up _what she was_ for you, for a chance to earn your love, I cannot even begin to fathom the depth of her devotion for her to go that far.”

 

-

 

Sleep didn’t come easy to Thranduil that night. He tossed and turned between the silken sheets, too many thoughts swirling in his head for him to make any sense of. Only in the privacy of his own mind could he admit that what Legolas had said was true, he _loved_ Bilbo Baggins. The small creature had somehow weaselled her way under his skin and into his cold heart where she had made herself at home like she had any and all rights to it. There she had ignited a fire within him, spreading her warmth further with every beat of his heart, until he felt as if he had _her_ heart beating underneath his skin. It tore at his mind and his conscious. Surely he was depraved, a betrayer for even being able to harbour such feelings within him. He was _vile_ for having found it in himself to love again after he had lost his beloved wife so long ago. Again, his son’s words echoed in his mind. He resolutely pushed them away. No, it was _wrong._

But… _Bilbo_ … Bilbo was _different_.

 

As breathtakingly beautiful as his wife had been, she had been a calm presence by Thranduil's side. Stunning, dignified, peaceful, calm like the surface of a lake on a windless night mirroring the moon and stars. Bilbo in comparison, was almost her polar opposite. She laughed, she danced, she sang, she wielded her razor-sharp wit like a sword. Bilbo was like a jolt of adrenaline, like pure energy... she was like a beating heart in an otherwise dying realm and the mere thought of losing her, of never seeing the love in her warm honey brown eyes again, or hearing her sweet voice singing, shot agony through the Elf King. It made him gasp for breath like a drowning man out on a stormy sea. Releasing a barely audible whimper Thranduil sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. How could he be so wrong yet feel so right? Heaving a heavy sigh he looked out the open balcony doors, feeling the warm breeze of the night caressing his skin. Rather than seeing the silhouette of Mirkwood he saw the look in Bilbo's eyes as she looked at him, rejected and hurt, before she turned away from him. Oh how he had wanted to go after her, to tell her he was sorry. But he couldn’t. Even though his beloved wife had passed, he still loved her oh so much and he simply couldn’t betray her like that. It wasn’t right. So with that in mind he settled back down, eventually falling into a fitful slumber.

 

-

 

As the days grew colder and shorter, and winter finally arrived, Bilbo immersed herself in the care of Bard’s house. The flowers out on the fields had long since withered and the air was cold enough for her breaths to come out in puffs of white when she went to the market. She smiled at the people she met there while getting her purchases, she planned on making a pie, pears and honey, Bain had asked her so sweetly yesterday and how could she deny the boy anything? She picked up fruit, for there should always be fruit available for a light snack, and she made sure to buy another barrel of ale, knowing the one back in Bard’s cellar was starting to run low, and for herself she got a pair of mittens of excellent dwarven make.

Humming to herself, Bilbo returned to the house, fully intending to start on Bain’s pie immediately, he would be so surprised and happy to have some after his lessons today, when she entered the kitchen… and found herself blinking at the rest of Bard’s staff. The Men and Women eyed her silently, chasing shudders down her spine.

“Is there something wrong?” Bilbo asked unsurely. “Did something happen to the children?”

“Please leave.”

Honey brown eyes merely blinked at them.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Please _leave_.” the woman repeated calmly. “We do not want you here anymore, Miss Baggins.”

“Why?” Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure how to feel right then. She was confused to say the least, for she had been nothing but kind and respectful to these people, never ever saying a bad or unkind word to any of them. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You come in here,” another woman piped up angrily, the cook Bilbo recognised. “And you take over our jobs. With you here, twirling about as if you are the new Lady of the House, we will soon be kicked out!”

“King Bard will not need us anymore and we need our jobs to earn money and feed our families.” the first woman said lowly. “You are threatening our livelihoods so _please_ … leave.”

Bilbo felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head, seeing in their eyes how these people were _angry_ with her when all she had wanted to do was _help_. Bilbo was a hobbit, she was used to doing chores, but here she had accidentally taken over the work of the servants. Bard hadn’t said a single word of letting anyone go but she doubted they would believe her if she said that… so instead she pressed out a smile, put her purchases down, and left the kitchen without a word.

 

Having nothing to do all of a sudden Bilbo returned to her room, once more finding herself standing in the middle with nowhere to go and a mind that raced in so many different directions she felt slightly nauseas. It dawned on her then, standing there looking around at what few belongings she had brought from Erebor, that she wasn’t welcome in Dale. There was no place there either for her to call her own. She couldn’t live in Erebor, she couldn’t live in Mirkwood, she wasn’t welcome in Dale… and the Shire was less of an option that ever before. Shirelings didn’t take well to strangers and Big Folk even less, it didn’t matter that she was a Baggins. As an elf she would be more ostracised than ever. _Where_ was there a place for _Bilbo_?

As she stood there, desperately trying to think of a place where they wouldn’t mind elves, it suddenly hit her.

Imladris…

Surely the ruler of the Last Homely House would accept her? Lord Elrond had known her mother, knew _her_ , knew all of what she had been through and survived, _surely_ he wouldn’t mind another elf in his town? Hobbit or no, surely Elrond wouldn’t mind another servant? Clearly, Bilbo knew how to do housework and if he allowed her to stay she would be _so_ _good_ , she would work hard to earn her place, even if it was nothing more than a cot on the floor.

Well, there was nothing for it. The East did not want her… so Bilbo Baggins would have to look to the West after all.

 

-

 

Sleep, as per usual these days, was an unsettled affair. It took long for Thranduil to find rest and whenever he did, it was usually to haunting dreams of times long past, of dragon fire and fair silken hair and a voice singing songs he couldn’t hear the words properly of, as if it came from underwater. More often than not he woke up on a painful gasp, sitting up in bed, his body trembling with cold sweat and the urge to _run_. Winter had come, snow falling for days and covering everything in thick swaths of white. Even the darkness of Mirkwood seemed to hunker down, calm down, wait for spring. The palace of Eryn Galen wasn’t bothered much. The mighty crowns of the trees protected the Elves of the Woodland Realm and from the depth of their roots they were kept warm. Not that the elves weren’t bringing out thick blankets and lighting fires to chase the chill away, as enduring as the elves were, they didn’t enjoy being cold any more than the other races did.

 

Blue eyes blinked tiredly at the intricate canopy of the bed but finding no comfort there. Thranduil glanced to the side, noting that the fire had died down sometime during his fitful slumber but for the life of him, he didn’t have the energy to get up and stoke it. He didn’t have energy for much at all these days it seemed. Exhaustion seemed to ride him like a Nazgûl rode a dark steed. Pressing out a deep sigh Thranduil pressed the meat of his palms to his eyes hard. He had a long day tomorrow, there were talks to be had with the council and his guards had reported orc raids closer to the palace than ever before. He _needed_ to be awake and alert to make wise decisions for the sake of his people. The fact that Thranduil would rather go out there and hunt that vile scum down himself than sit in yet _another_ meeting was no one’s business but his own. Heaving yet another deep sigh he turned on his side, hoping to get at least a few hours more before he had to get up and get ready. Just a few hours…

 

-

 

_When he opened his eyes he found himself surrounded by darkness. All around him, above him and even below his feet. Immediately on the alert, Thranduil reached for his swords… only to realise that he had none. He had no weapons, not even a bow, he wore no armour… only the simple tunics of his people. When he uttered words to try to dispel this magic he had been caught in, he found himself unable to press out a single word. Worried now, for it took quite the power to trap an Elven Ruler this way, Thranduil looked frantically around for a way to escape, or to at least make his guards aware of the peril their King was in._

_Far away his eyes caught the sight of light… coming slowly towards him. Frowning, he narrowed his eyes to see better and he thought he heard-… singing._

_Blue eyes stared as the source of the light came closer… and he realised what it was. No, not what._ Whom.

_His beloved wife was smiling at him, that gentle smile he hadn’t seen in more than an Age, coming towards him like he had dreamt of for so long! However… there was a much softer light with her._

_Walking next to her… was_ Bilbo _. The hobbit kept on singing in that wonderful sweet voice that Thranduil had grown to admire so much, yet she would not look up at him. Neither was she smiling. She stopped next to the royal elf, her voice still distant somehow, but just a touch clearer now. Compared to his wife, Bilbo's light could barely be seen at all, a mere candle flicker next to the pure starlight beside her… yet just as beautiful._

_Unsure of what to do Thranduil could only stand there and watch them, despair in his eyes, for he loved them both and if he had to choose…_

_Before wide blue eyes he watched his wife offer him a gentle smile… then sink down to her knees to carefully cradle Bilbo's cheeks, making the small hobbit finally look up at her, the song dying out. There were no feelings in her honey brown eyes, they were calm… and empty. But as the fair elf-maiden leaned in to press her lips to soft ones, all the things Thranduil had already seen in their depths slowly returned. It was as if Bilbo had been an unresponsive doll and with this kiss, life returned to her, warmth to her cheeks and love to her eyes._

_When the soft kiss finally broke she was smiling at the Elven Maid, a shy yet loving smile. She turned towards him then, finally looking him in the eyes, even as his beloved rose to her feet and gently urged her towards the Elvenking. But Thranduil couldn’t. No, it wasn’t right. She was his_ wife _, how could he ever-_

_His beloved wife shook her head then, finally coming up to him, pale hands gently cradling his face like they had so many times before. She pressed a delicate kiss to his lips and he felt-… the taste of pipeweed, and a warmth hearth and the scent of flowers in his nose._

_‘_ Love _her, Thranduil.’ He heard her voice in his mind rather than spoken before him. ‘You have been lonely for so long and I will allow it no longer.’ She smiled that smile she had directed at him when she thought he hadn’t seen. ‘She_ loves _you as much as I do, and together,_ we _shall love_ her _.’_

_The elf-maiden took a step back then, ever gracing him with that calm patient smile, watching silently how the King of Elves fell to his knees to hold out his hands, feeling warmth seep into cold limbs when small hands took his. He pulled Bilbo into his arms, held her as hard as he dared, for this love was a blessing he hadn’t known he'd been given. But he knew now, oh how he knew just how big a blessing this was. Still holding on to this hobbit lass, he looked up at his wife and saw her laugh in joy, fading even as she did so._

_Yet some of her starlight… remained in Bilbo…_

 

Thranduil woke up with yet another loud gasp, sitting up in bed and staring emptily before him. In his chest his heart beat furiously yet he swore on everything that was dear to him that he felt the scent of lilies in the room, his wife’s favourite flower. Thranduil hadn’t been able to _see_ lilies much less smell them ever since his wife’s passing so for him to feel them now…

He swallowed hard, thinking back on the dream. He thought he still heard faint singing in his ears. _Bilbo_ …

On the next heartbeat he got out of bed to get dressed. He was going to Dale to bring his hobbit, _his beloved_ , back home.

 

-

 

Thranduil was seriously starting to doubt he was the real father of Legolas by the time they made Dale. His son had been a royal pain in Thranduil's arse from the moment the younger elf realised what his father’s intentions were in his sudden visit to the Realm of Men. Honestly speaking, there hadn’t been a single elf in Mirkwood who _hadn’t_ been delighted at the rumour of their proud King _finally_ giving in to the little hobbit-turned-elf’s charms, and the Council had been all too willing to postpone any meetings for later. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Thranduil dearly hoped his elves weren’t planning a bloody wedding in his absence. If they did they would _sorely_ regret it upon his return.

 

As it were however, the two royals, and their group of guards, rode into Dale to talk to King Bard about one of his citizens. Legolas was already mentally going over which of Bilbo's hiding places she was most likely to have turned to this time, there weren’t that many left in the City of Dale and what few there were he'd find them soon enough. Pointless to say, they were surprised when the King himself came out to greet them, along with the Dwarven envoy that had apparently come from Erebor… and Mithrandir.

“King Thranduil,” Bard greeted him lowly, offering a tilt of his head and getting one in return. “What can I do for you, is there something wrong in Mirkwood?”

“No, King Bard, there is nothing wrong.” Thranduil replied lowly, getting off Arasson in a graceful slide. “May we speak inside, away from prying eyes?”

“Why, yes of course!”

Thranduil offered the dwarrow another little tilt of his head, getting respectful tilts in return, before following the Man inside his home, Legolas at his side. A glance at the wizard told him that Mithrandir was up to something again… and whatever it was, Thranduil wanted no part of it. He had other matters to tend to at the moment. “Can I get you anything?” Bard asked him a few moments later when they entered the big hall used for meetings in the Man’s home.

“No, thank you.” the Elvenking replied calmly. “I have come to inquire about a member of your staff.” How Bilbo had ended up becoming a mere _servant_ was beyond him. In Eryn Galen she would never have to do chores, ever again!

“My staff?” came the confused question. “Have any of them wronged you?”

Even the dwarrow looked confused. Thranduil wanted to roll his eyes at the silliness.

“Where is Bilbo Baggins?” he decided to cut to the point instead. The intricate nuances of political communication were too tiring and he had an hobbit-turned-elf to find.

“Bilbo?” Bard blinked at him. “She is not here.”

“Not here?” Legolas piped up before anyone else got a chance to. “Is she out? Is she in Erebor?”

 

“We have not seen Miss Baggins in Erebor for weeks.” one of the dwarves answered calmly, shooting that thought down immediately. Good. Thranduil preferred _not_ to go banging on Thorin's door to get his hobbit out from under the stubborn dwarf’s darn mountain.

“Somewhere in Dale then!” Legolas beamed. “I will find her soon enough!” Just about to rush out, the low words of a confused King Bard was enough to stop him.

“Bilbo is not in Dale, King Thranduil.” He eyed the elves warily. “She no longer lives here.”

Pointless to say, Thranduil and Legolas weren’t the only ones staring at the man. They blinked at him.

“Where is she then?” one of the dwarves’ barked, demanding an answer. Even Gandalf was frowning.

“She said she was going to Rivendell.” Bain, the Man’s son, answered unsurely from a side door. Clearly the child had been listening in on their conversation. “She said something about ‘elves living with elves’… though I did not believe much of that.” He frowned to himself, obviously mulling over whatever he had gotten out of her before she had left.

“Imladris?” Thranduil pressed out. “She went to Imladris in the middle of winter?”

“The passes snowed over long ago!” Legolas frowned, suddenly worried for his dear friend. A _real_ elf would struggle crossing the Misty Mountains in the dead of winter, and Bilbo, much like she had said, was only an elf in appearance. She would have no idea how to survive!

“No,” came the hesitant answer from the boy. “She said she would winter with a friend, on the other side of the Woodland Realm.”

“Beorn?” Gandalf suddenly asked, staring at the boy so hard Bain felt awkward in his own skin.

He nodded unsurely.

“Yes, Master Gandalf.”

“When did she leave, boy?” the Grey demanded immediately.

“Uhm… three weeks ago?” Bain answered after a moment of thinking.

“But Beorn has left the Anduin Valley for the mountains.” the Wizard rumbled. “He has not been there for months!”

“And without the skinchanger there…” Legolas pressed out, suddenly losing colour. “That means-”

“The valley is orc-infested.” the wizard finished forebodingly.

No one really had any chance to react to that insight because the next moment Thranduil boomed out of the house before any of his guards could as much as ask what was going on. While they still scrambled to get up on their horses, Thranduil and Arasson were already long gone.

 

-

 

 _‘This sure had been a spectacularly daft idea.’_ Bilbo thought desperately where she sat in front of the small fire she had lit in Beorn's fireplace. She had managed to get around Mirkwood easily enough, sticking to the very edge of the woods where she had excellent views of both the plains and the branches and where she could easily hide or run should she have need for it. Getting to the skinchanger’s cottage hadn’t been difficult at all. She didn’t have many possessions with her, mostly food and warm clothes, figuring she’d send for whatever else she wanted once she knew for sure she was allowed to stay with Lord Elrond. If not then-… well… then she was fairly clueless. She might try Lórien after that but that was really her last way out. If _those_ elves didn’t want her either then there really was no other place for her to go but back to the Shire. Bree was a hub of travellers and races, no one would pay too much attention to a lone elf-maiden and if she changed her name maybe she wouldn’t have to worry about pesky relatives coming around to gawk at her either. However, those were thoughts for a later date.

 

As it were, Bilbo Baggins was currently the sole inhabitant of Beorn's cottage. It was obvious that he'd return eventually, his dishes were still on the shelves and he had taken no furniture so obviously the house wasn’t permanently abandoned, but that didn’t really help her right now. Bilbo had figured she’d winter with Beorn, he was a dear friend and she was positive he'd let her stay until she could cross the Misty Mountains… unfortunately for her he hadn’t been there. And neither were any of his animals. The cottage was cold and dark and after having been there a week already, unsure of how to proceed, Bilbo was running low on supplies. She had found a jar of honey and a sack of oats, but that was it. She was at the end of her rope here. Sighing heavily she moved to roll her bedroll out and get some sleep… when she heard a noise that made the blood freeze in her veins. She had heard that noise before, and it didn’t bring any good memories.

_Orcs._

 

-

 

When Thranduil _finally_ made it to the skinchanger’s cottage it was obvious to keen eyes that it had indeed been visited by the foul creatures of Morgoth. There were footprints everywhere in the snow and their foul stench yet clung to everything they had touched. Why they hadn’t decided to burn the house down was of a minor worry for while the Elvenking could easily see the signs of orcs… he could also see the faint traces of elf. Bilbo had been there! Thranduil didn’t even bother to raise an eyebrow as he turned to see what his sword had just cut through. The pitiful creature looked almost comically surprised at not having been able to touch the mighty Elf Lord. Fool. Kicking the disgusting thing off of his blade Thranduil hurried inside the cottage and swallowed hard when he saw disfigured bodies in puddles of black blood, spatters on the walls and floor around him.

“Bilbo?” he called out, hoping desperately to find his love safe and unharmed, listening for any signs of her still being there. “Bilbo!”

Thranduil nearly whimpered when his eye caught the glimpse of something shimmering on the floor and having kicked yet another dead body aside he bent down to see what it was. A hairpin, a familiar delicate hairpin with white flowers. “Oh Bilbo…”

 

Only Ages of training stopped his blade in time. Her eyes were wide, frightened and disbelieving when they met glacial despairing blue. While she moved soundlessly herself, the plank beneath her had creaked, alerting him to the presence of another in the cottage. She looked at him as if she couldn’t possibly believe he was really there.

“Thranduil?” she pressed out on a hoarse whisper. “Why are you…?” Her hands were shaking where they held the dagger she called a sword, she was dirty and pale and a trickle of blood had dried over her temple and down her cheek. Black blood on the tiny blade she wielded told him that _somehow,_ she had been able to defend herself despite having no training and most likely, at least one or two orcs in there were dead by her hand.

She barely had time to frown before he was upon her, pulling her closer and into an embrace tight enough to make her ribs complain. Right over her ear she heard him whisper, over and over again.

“You are safe, _Meleth nin_ , you are safe.” He would never admit that he was shaking as he held her, feeling her so blessedly _warm_ and _alive_ in his arms. “I was not too late, you are safe…”

“Thranduil…?”

“Not now, my beloved, we need to leave here.” the Elvenking replied lowly, knowing that there were most likely more orcs coming. There were always more orcs coming.

Holding her close to his side they stepped out of the house and hurried up to where an anxious Arasson was almost prancing in his desire to get going, to get them back to the safety of Mirkwood.

 

Unable to help himself any longer, Thranduil leaned down to press his lips to impossibly soft ones. At first she stiffened, clearly caught off guard, not prepared for such affections from him when he had turned her down twice already, and what a fool he'd been! But then she melted against him, into his arms… and something within him seemed to slot into place. Bilbo Baggins was _his_ , his alone and she had finally come home, _to him_.

When he drew back it was to see those honey brown eyes smile at him once more, warm and loving.

Usually cold blue eyes watched her with something akin to despair, mixing with so many other emotions Bilbo struggled to identify them all… then he smiled, a soft smile so full of relief that she was _safe_ , and Bilbo knew.

“You came for me.” she whispered, her eyes full of wonder. Her smile brought back the sunlight he hadn’t known he'd been without for months. “How did you know?”

“Mithrandir.” Thranduil murmured. “He told me Beorn had left the valley after Bard’s child told us where you had gone.” Gently now, he pulled her back into his embrace. She was safe now, and he would take her back to Eryn Galen where she belonged, elf or no. He felt himself relax when she leaned into him, holding him hard.

Then she suddenly tensed, only to roughly shove him aside a moment later. Confused, he turned to ask why… when he felt as if his blood had turned to ice in his veins. It was as if time itself slowed down to allow him to memorise every excruciating detail of her as her small body jerked with the force when an arrow hit her shoulder with a sickening _‘thunk’_ , and then another in her chest, the force of the impact enough to throw her off her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh… cliffhanger anybody? Please do comment, they keep me motivated to keep writing and posting! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

**Author's Note:**

> For the love of everything and anything, please leave a little comment because I’m going stir-crazy and I need a kick in the ass to finish SO many WIPs! DX


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